


This Time Around

by MissBianca (robinwheelers), rbcch



Series: Brooklyn Babies [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Daddy Kink, F/F, Fluff, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strap-Ons, just a lot of sex with scarlet being cute and yvie being annoyed, tw heterophobia, with a side of adore having way too much fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinwheelers/pseuds/MissBianca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbcch/pseuds/rbcch
Summary: Yvie processes smudged eyeliner, before her gaze falls to a delicate nose and a pink, pretty mouth, open slightly and still somehow pouty, full lips clean of any tint or gloss. Swallowing thickly, Yvie blinks, the air seeming significantly warmer now, or maybe it’s her skin. The surprise of having her cigarette rudely stolen is trumped by the surprise of how ridiculously attractive the little thief is, and Yvie makes no protest, instead taking a cigarette of her own and flipping the pack closed, defying the near-gravitational pull of the woman beside her and forcing herself to look away, even if just for a moment.Or, Scarlet takes Yvie’s cigarette, and Yvie takes her home.





	This Time Around

**Author's Note:**

> rbcch’s a/n: sometimes dreams do come true and you get yourself a new ship, usually you just have to pout long enough. we’ve had so much fun writing this, i hope you have as much fun reading this, and come and tell me what you think. i would love to chat about this au with you guys. say hi to me on @lesbianpearliaison, i'm always thirsty for feedback !
> 
> Miss Bianca's a/n: so…it’s finally done! those of you who follow us have been hearing about this particular collab constantly for over a month, and we are so incredibly proud of how it turned out. working on this project has taught me what true, 50/50 collaboration looks like, and has also proven to me yet again how utterly obsessed i am with rbcch and her writing, and i cannot wait to work more with her in the future - both to create more within this AU, and to work on other projects outside of it. please let her, and/or myself, know what you think of this! you can find me @scarletoddly on tumblr. this will also be posted on artificialqueens, where our pen names are, unsurprisingly, rbcch and Miss Bianca.

Yvie barely dodges another body, groaning under her breath in frustration and squeezing between two strangers as she keeps her gaze fixed on Adore’s back so to not lose her as they make their way through a busy Brooklyn bar. The heat in the smoky interior is sudden, a contrast from the cool air outside, and Yvie considers taking off her leather jacket briefly, before wrapping it tighter around herself for security instead. 

As always, Adore seems far less bothered to be in a crowded space like this, much more at home. She practically bounces off the bar once she reaches it, her body landing heavily against the wood, both forearms resting on top. Sighing, Yvie grits her teeth and shoulders yet another person to the side, positioning herself next to Adore stiffly.

“Damn, you're really losing your touch,” she deadpans. “Couldn't you have found us somewhere with a nice crowd?”

Adore quirks an unimpressed eyebrow at Yvie, the tip of her tongue poking out from between her teeth, then lets her eyes dart to the opposite side of the counter. “Y’know, seems nice enough to me.”

Yvie follows her gaze to a bartender with her back turned, then down to said bartender's ass, and rolls her eyes. 

“So I'm just here to be your wingwoman, right?” she sighs. “That's why you dragged me out on this Thursday night?”

They always do this whenever Adore manages to force Yvie out of the apartment or her art studio; Yvie grumbles about it like a little bitch and Adore acts generally unaffected by her complaining. In reality, Yvie’s roommate is one of the few reasons she even goes out, and they both know it, regardless of how much Yvie bitches about it.

“Oh, right," Adore snorts, grabbing her black hat by the brim and adjusting it on her washed-out brown hair. “As if you don't get pussy without even trying every time I drag you off your ass and make you be around people.”

Yvie opens her mouth to protest, and then, drawing blank, closes it, leaning her chin on her fist and huffing out a heavy breath. No matter how many times the conversation turns to her seemingly wild and adventurous sex life, there’s really no way for her to dispute misconceptions without spilling her guts. So instead, she just rolls with it, plays her well-practiced part of the laid-back, detached womanizer. 

“Besides, I don't need a wingwoman,” Adore adds, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. “The ones I pick land in the palm of my hand. Literally.”

“Oh, shut up,” Yvie can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes her, so she counteracts it with a roll of her eyes. “Seriously, shut up.”

The music gets louder, then, pressing in around them, and Yvie stiffens her spine, straightens her shoulders so as not to collapse inwards. Picking up a flimsy paper napkin from the bar, she starts pulling at it with her blunt fingernails, tearing off tiny pieces and rolling them between her thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey,” Adore says, her hand resting on Yvie's forearm and her tone surprisingly soft. “If I let you breathe in oil paints and cigarettes any longer, you would've died, bitch. You gotta get out more. Y'know, social life, and shit.” She waves her free arm around. “Fresh air. Y’know, stuff.”

“I love how _this_ is your definition of fresh air.”

Adore brushes her off and turns back to the bar, just in time to come face to face with the very bartender whose ass she was so unabashedly eyeing earlier. Adore looks at her like she wants to swallow her whole without chewing, and knowing her, that’s probably exactly what’s going to happen later tonight. Unsurprisingly, the bartender stares back, lips slightly parted, like her breath just escaped her, and there's no missing the satisfied look in Adore's eye. Yvie looks at them in mild disbelief mixed with a dash of annoyance, and, when it becomes clear that neither of them is going to move, clears her throat pointedly.

“Can I get a Guinness, please?” she says loudly, probably too loud to use talking over the music as an excuse. “In a bottle, _please_.”

The bartender's mouth opens farther, and Yvie glances at Adore to find her roommate grinning darkly and repeatedly clicking the ball of her tongue piercing against her teeth. 

“And one tequila,” Yvie adds curtly, ripping a larger piece off the paper napkin. “You know, as soon as you're free.” 

“Huh?” the girl hums absentmindedly, finally tearing her gaze off Adore. “A shot?”

“No, a bottle.”

The girl shoots Yvie an annoyed leer, seemingly snapping out of it the rest of the way and snatching a bottle of tequila from the one of the refrigerator sinks on her work unit and pouring a shot. She puts it on the counter in front of Yvie, topping it off with a slice of lime and a little pack of salt, then opts for one of the real, floor-length fridges behind her. Adore resumes staring at her ass but doesn’t forget to call a low _Actually, make that two, babe_ after her.

“You done?” Yvie mutters while the bartender is looking away, shooting Adore a look and tossing a rolled up bit of napkin at her. “You’re fucking shameless.”

“Mmm,” Adore hums, clearly not at all perturbed by Yvie's attitude. “Remember that time you forgot your keys and fingered that girl in the hallway outside our apartment? What was her name? Anna? Akasha?”

Yvie narrows her eyes. “A'keria, I think. Your point?”

“Fuckin' shameless.” Adore winks at her. 

With a shrug, Yvie thinks back to her encounter with A’keria. Her lips had been sticky with her lipgloss and tasted of cherry, and Yvie had swallowed her broken gasps off her mouth as she had pressed her against the wall next to their front door and worked her fingers into her panties and then inside her. Like most of Yvie's hookups, she hadn't stayed the night. In fact, she hadn't even made it into the apartment before ordering herself an Uber, rhinestoned acrylics clicking against the screen of her phone, cooing lazily about how men will never know how to touch women like another woman does, and isn’t that a damn shame, as she’d given Yvie's arm a squeeze. She had been long gone when Adore got there with the keys, and Yvie had tasted the stupid, sickly-sweet lipgloss on her tongue for hours afterwards.

Good thing she had never particularly liked cherry flavors anyway.

Yvie grimaces and turns to busy herself with the shot to avoid continuing with the topic. Swiping the slice of lime over the back of her palm quickly, she then pours the salt over the sticky trail and grabs the glass, unceremoniously lapping up the salt and washing it down with the alcohol. Once she’s sucking on the lime, she decides to turn back to Adore.

Her roommate is now chatting up a dark haired girl perched on a stool beside her, repeating her seductive routine as if out of habit, hardly bothering to pause when the bartender sets the beers down in front of them.

“Thanks, babe,” Adore says carelessly, picking up her bottle and flashing the bartender a smile before looking back at her new conquest.

Yvie tries to drill into the back of Adore’s head with her gaze, but conveniently, this seems like the only time Adore’s focus is unwavering. The girl may not be able to hold a coherent conversation for longer than a few minutes at a time, but she's always been able to hold a woman's attention for as long as is necessary to get something that she wants — that something, more often than not, being to get into their panties.

“Watch my beer, Delano,” Yvie scoffs and pushes her own bottle in front of Adore. It’s hard to tell if Adore hears her. Yvie finds she doesn't particularly care. 

Pushing through the crowd is even harder than it was when they entered, and Yvie isn’t sure if it’s because of the fact the place is even more packed now or because of the way she feels almost claustrophobic without Adore as her lifeline. It’s a grimy bar, the kind where the floor is sticky with more than just wax to prevent it being slippery and the surfaces are in the constant state of something questionable chipping and peeling off of them. The air feels as dim and smoky as the lighting, hard to breathe in somehow, and Yvie knows her skin and clothes will stink of cheap beer and marijuana by the time they finally head home.

There’s a pool table on the right behind the bar counter, occupied by a guy and a girl who arches her back and pushes her ass up when she bends over the table in a way Yvie isn’t completely convinced is necessary. There’s a row of soft seating against the left wall, the velvet covering the cushions probably rich red where the fabric dye hasn’t worn off from the bodies rubbing on it. The round tables are situated every couple feet or so, almost all of them already taken and slowly filling with empty pints and glasses and bottles.

Yvie counts the scents of dozens of different perfumes as she shoves and ducks her way through the thickest part of the crowd, all of them oppressively heavy, a few of them familiar. She wonders if she's taken any of these women to bed, wonders which one she'll end up taking to bed tonight, wonders how many of them are just waiting to fall into the arms of someone who can take care of them proper, soft and needy and looking for one night where they can be the one who uses and then leaves rather than the one who's left. 

She reaches the back exit, shoulders drawn in towards her body, and glances behind at the clusters of bodies in the darkened room briefly. She places her forearm firmly against the door and chews the inside of her cheek, wonders if being the one who always stays behind will ever get easier.

The fenced smoking area is pleasantly empty, the night too young for people to be chain-smoking through packs upon packs just yet. The air outside is even cooler now that she’s coming from inside the bar, and she shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket, her fist instinctively closing around the old refillable lighter in one of them. Pushing the jacket closed in the front, she strides over to lean against the brick wall. There’s a weird realization that the door takes longer to close behind her than a door that light logically should poking somewhere at the edge of Yvie’s consciousness, but she pays it no mind, instead shaking one of her hands out of the pocket and retrieving the pack of cigarettes stored there. She thumbs it open and is abruptly distracted by the sound of footsteps, the sudden warmth of another body next to her. 

A slender hand enters her line of vision, snagging a cigarette from the pack before withdrawing again, and Yvie looks up and directly into the heavy lidded eyes of her unexpected company. 

She processes smudged eyeliner, before her gaze falls to a delicate nose and a pink, pretty mouth, open slightly and still somehow pouty, full lips clean of any tint or gloss. Swallowing thickly, Yvie blinks, the air seeming significantly warmer now, or maybe it’s her skin. The surprise of having her cigarette rudely stolen is trumped by the surprise of how ridiculously attractive the little thief is, and Yvie makes no protest, instead taking a cigarette of her own and flipping the pack closed, defying the near-gravitational pull of the woman beside her and forcing herself to look away, even if just for a moment.

“Got a light, daddy?”

The woman's drawl is smooth and sweet, and Yvie's visceral reaction is anything but. She's got the cigarette dangling between her fingers, hovering near that goddamned mouth, and the way she tilts her head just a little makes it clear she's fully aware of the disarming, arousing effect she's having. Yvie can’t bear to look at her knowing eyes or the tilt of her lips as she purses them more, so she drops her gaze lower and regrets it immediately as she’s met with the soft curve of her cleavage instead. It couldn't be clearer that the woman is braless, hardly supported by the flimsy material of the red dress she's wearing, nipples poking through the fabric, begging for attention, and Yvie feels as if she's being suffocated, snaps her gaze away, fights the desire to curse aloud. 

She twists her arm and pulls the lighter out, quickly pushing herself off the wall with her abs and stepping closer. The woman leans in, cigarette securely between her lips and palm flying up to shield the light, and Yvie flicks the lighter and stays breathing in her rosy fragrance exactly as long as it takes for the cherry to turn bright orange and not a second longer.

Slumping back against the cold brick, Yvie lights her own smoke and eyes the woman out of the corner of her eye. She wears what appears to be a grey men’s blazer, draped over her shoulders with her arms outside the sleeves, and Yvie toys with the possibility that it’s probably her boyfriend's, or some guy’s she was flirting with before coming out and deciding Yvie was her daddy instead. The garment falls lower than her dress, which isn’t really much of an accomplishment, seeing as her dress doesn’t fall low at all, instead creeping up every time the woman tugs on the fabric to cover more of her chest and revealing the milky, flawless skin of her thighs. The hand not occupied with the cigarette is grasping a glass, fingers around the rim, long french tip nails blatantly evident against the golden liquid inside. Yvie's eyes wander up her chest to her brown hair, coarse and loose, the kind of messy that's a casualty rather than a deliberate choice, falling to just below her shoulders but so voluminous that Yvie thinks her hands could get lost in it. 

Yvie likes the hair. It's one of the few things about her that doesn't scream straight girl looking for an easy fuck. Unfortunately, she really, really likes everything else, too, despite or maybe even due to it, in fact, screaming exactly that. It's just her luck, that she always feels this pull towards girls who only want her for the night, just to try it out, get whatever she can give them before they go back to men. Yvie steels herself, hoping she'll be able to resist falling into that trap once again.

The woman is regarding Yvie back, far less subtly than Yvie hopes she is. Yvie watches as she takes a drag, her pillowy lips puckering, and then blows out a cloud of smoke, her gaze lowering to survey Yvie’s abs, revealed by her crop top. She brings her glass up, that pretty mouth of hers staying open as her tongue pokes out, curls, attempts to catch the straw and misses miserably. The woman pouts audibly, and the situation is so absurd that Yvie chuckles and shakes her head, her resolve to keep her distance already starting to crumble.

The woman clearly goes to say something to that, but before she can, the back door creaks open again and a bouncer sticks his head out, startling them both.

“No drinks allowed outside,” he informs them, pointing at the sign above Yvie’s head that states exactly that. “Take it inside.”

The woman looks frustrated, ready to protest, but the bouncer raises an eyebrow and she deflates quickly, letting out a noise somewhere between a huff and a whine. Yvie stares, almost disbelieving, as the woman just lets her freshly lit cigarette fall unceremoniously from her fingers onto the concrete. Brushing off her fingertips on the lapel of the blazer, as if getting rid of invisible ash, she looks Yvie up and down one last time, seeming almost wistful, before turning to wobble back towards the door. 

Practically gaping, Yvie glances rapidly between the still lit, wasted cigarette on the pavement and the graceful curve of the woman's calves in her heels as she yanks the door farther open and begins to step inside. The bouncer disappears, but the woman stays put for a moment, propping the door open with her ass, her fingers curling around the doorframe as she stares at Yvie determinedly. Closing her mouth, Yvie stares right back, taking a drag of her own cigarette in attempt to hide how completely thrown off her guard she is. The woman sighs, licking her upper lip and pausing as if deciding how to properly articulate her thoughts. 

“'M gonna find you later,” she says finally, nodding and pointing at Yvie. "Later."

She vanishes, and the door slams shut, leaving Yvie alone with her burning cigarette and racing thoughts.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she curses and angrily stomps on the smoke the woman left behind her, crushing it under her boot and then grinding it into the pavement with a couple vigorous movements for good measure.

She finishes her own cigarette in record time, smoking like she has a point to prove or a lot of pent up tension and fury to release. Yvie finds herself angry often, probably too often, but rarely quite so heated as she is now, swept up into such a confusing rush of feelings that she can't identify whether the source of the heat is her head or her gut or somewhere lower, between her hips, or her thighs, or if it’s just the cherry of her cigarette burning too close to her fingers now and setting her skin on fire.

She doesn’t stop until she can taste the filter, and it annoys her even more, because she’s left with the harsh taste of cardboard on her tongue in lieu of much smoother, softer tobacco. Shuffling her fingers so that she’s pinching the butt between her thumb and index, Yvie snappily stubs it out on the seam between two bricks on the wall like it personally offended her. Tossing it to the ground, she stares down at what remains of the other woman's discarded cigarette, and shakes her head, jaw clenching. She should be relieved, she thinks, that the woman had departed before she was able to tempt Yvie even more, but the only clear feeling in her mind is frustration. 

Collapsing back against the wall, Yvie lets out a deep breath, pushing one hand through the short curls on the top of her head and shoving the other into her pocket, probably a bit more aggressively than necessary. Finding her pack of smokes there, she rubs her thumb against it, contemplates lighting up another to occupy herself for awhile longer. 

As if she's hit a light switch, Yvie's mind is suddenly filled with the image of the woman's face as Yvie had lit her cigarette earlier, her eyes downcast, her palm visibly soft in the glow of the single flame. The sweet, heady scent of her perfume seems to fill Yvie's senses once more, mixed now with remainders of the acrid smoke, and Yvie isn't sure whether it's really lingered so long in the air around her, or whether all of it is in her head. She wonders whether the fragrance was only rubbed onto her neck and her wrists, or whether she could find it tucked into the woman's cleavage as well, nose into the valley between her breasts and breathe the mixture of sweat and sweetness and skin until her head is spinning and the saliva pools under her tongue. 

Yvie shuffles her feet on the ground like she wants to kick something and scoffs at herself loudly. She decides to forego another cigarette and head back inside instead to escape her own mind and the woman occupying it.

The bar feels a little bit louder, a little bit busier, a little bit smaller than it was upon her exit, but at least the smell of hard liquor snaps Yvie abruptly back to reality and drowns out anything else she might imagine she’s still sensing. Defensively crossing her arms on her chest, Yvie tries to push through stacks of people with as little physical contact as possible while she scans the room carefully. She doesn’t pay attention to light brown manes of the girls surrounding her, doesn't turn her chin ever so slightly towards any floral perfume she notices, most certainly doesn't feel her stomach clench every time she catches a flash of red in her peripheral vision. She’s looking for Adore, she tells herself firmly, and only Adore. 

Adore finds her instead, her lazy drawl barely reaching Yvie over all the other noise as she passes the table her roommate seems to have relocated to. Yvie stops in her tracks and wheels around, taking in the image before her. The first thing she registers is a dark-haired girl, perched in a lap. The second thing she registers is that the lap is Adore’s. Yvie can’t tell if the girl is the same one Adore was chatting up at the counter or not, and she wouldn’t be surprised either way. One of Adore’s arms is around her waist, and the other one is extended toward the table where she’s toying with a beer bottle, another, empty one right beside it. The girl is raising a glass above her head and swaying her hips to the music, only her position makes it look like she’s grinding on Adore’s thigh rather than dancing, and she looks so obviously gay that Yvie feels like punching something.

Yvie leans solidly against the table, stares at Adore with an eyebrow raised. Before she can speak up to get Adore's attention, the dark-haired girl reaches over to snatch Adore's hat off of her head, giggling and pulling it on so it rests lopsidedly over her own curls. Adore laughs in return, far more roughly, tugs the girl closer by her waist and sticks her tongue out with her mouth still open as if she's about to lean in and lick the girl's chest. 

“Is that my beer, Delano?” Yvie asks indignantly, cutting in before Adore can do anything inappropriate in front of her, or God forbid, remind her of what she wants to do to a certain wild-haired woman who she's trying very hard to keep out of her thoughts.

“Dunno,” Adore shrugs, batting her eyelashes with a smile that's somewhere between charming and predatory. “But I drank some, so... if you took a sip you might as well just be giving me a big, wet kiss.”

“Bitch, I paid for that!” Yvie exclaims. “You can't just drink my beer.”

“Chill,” Adore says, forcing the hand that's not currently pushing up the dark-haired girl's shirt into the pocket of her jeans and pulling out a crumpled up twenty that looks like it's been to hell and back again. She chucks it onto the table, and puts both hands on the girl's waist. “There, 'kay? Go to the bar and get yourself somethin' nice, give me and Violet here a minute alone, huh?”

“Wow, you learned her name,” Yvie observes, a heavy note of sarcasm in her tone as she nods and grabs the bill from the table. “Damn, guess someone found her prize early tonight.”

“Go get your beer before you scare her off, Yves,” Adore snarks.

“Fuck you,” says the prize in question playfully, cupping Adore's neck to pull her closer.

“Later, babe,” Adore says with a grin, leaning in. “Can do whatever you want to me later.”

“And that would be my cue, then,” Yvie states loudly and turns on her heels, starting to walk back to the bar.

Adore is like this, with women. She falls in love for a night, and then falls out of it with equal effortlessness before the new dawn has even begun to break. She picks girls up one by one, like little gadgets or toys, and tries them out, fiddles with them, charms them with her carelessness and her disinterest and her wolfish grin until they're practically eating from the palm of her hand. And then, she drops each one just the same, forgets names, deletes numbers from her phone as easily as she gets them. With Adore, there’s never a second date, never a text back, only a new girl with a new flavor on a new night. It leaves a bad taste in Yvie's mouth, always has. She can't understand how anyone can live like that, without any sort of emotional connection or intimacy, and remain intact and happy and carefree like Adore does. 

Yvie herself certainly hasn't been able to. 

Of course, she’s served by the same bartender as the first time around. The woman looks somewhere past Yvie, and Yvie knows she’s hoping to see Adore trailing behind. When she realizes it’s not in the cards, she fixes Yvie a blank look.

“Can I get two shots?” Yvie asks her.

“Tequila?” the bartender asks back.

Yvie knits her brow together and licks her lower lip before replying. “Actually, make it vodka.”

The bartender nods and slams two shot glasses on the counter in front of Yvie, then grabs a bottle and fills them up. Yvie hands her the note and swiftly takes the shots back to back while the woman disappears to ring her total in and get her change.

She’s just putting the second glass down when she hears it, and she instinctively snaps her head around before she can think better of it. It’s a rich, throaty sound, not quite a girly giggle but undeniably a cute laugh nonetheless, and Yvie frantically looks for the source.

She’s standing a little distance away, closer to the pool table, and she’s still wearing the godawful blazer that is just the first on the list of things Yvie wants to rip off of her. It’s too dark and too far away to actually tell, but Yvie is pretty sure she’s pinching the straw of the drink she’s holding between her ridiculous nails and taking tiny sips, her sinful mouth puckering. There’s someone with her, a tall, slender blonde with a head of hair even longer and messier. Yvie doesn't bother giving her more than a glance, her eyes moving back to the woman she can't seem to get out of her mind. She bites her lip, watches the woman's head tilt back gorgeously as she laughs again, and wishes she was biting there instead, under her strong jaw, ruining the fair skin until the mark she's left is as angry as she feels.

Inhaling slowly through her nose, Yvie tears her gaze away, turns once more to face the bar and lean against it, finding her change along with a receipt on the counter and the bartender still nearby. “Can I get a Guinness, too, please?”

The bartender nods wearily, heading back to fetch it from the fridge, and Yvie taps her fingertips against the wood of the counter, chewing on her lower lip now, wishing something would distract her from the places her imagination is going and the way the seam of her jeans presses between her legs when she keeps shifting her weight from foot to foot. The white paper of the receipt catches her eye, and she flips it over, pursing her lips. To her surprise, there's a phone number written at the bottom, scrawled in black ink. Furrowing her brow, she stares at it for a second, still too distracted by the undercurrent of dirty thoughts filling her mind to figure out why it would be there. She's startled out of her thoughts by the bartender setting the beer bottle down in front of her, and pointing at the writing she's been staring at. 

“That,” the bartender says loudly, “Is for your friend.”

“Right,” Yvie nods, suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and folds the receipt carelessly. “'Course it is.”

_She's not gonna call you,_ Yvie thinks to herself, wishing she had the nerve or the right amount of alcohol in her system to say it out loud. Instead, she gives the bartender one last nod, grabs her beer and the receipt, and heads back towards the table.

That’s the thing with Adore. She always gets numbers, always has ink scratched on her hands, always has a woman trying to get a text back, for a coffee date or a second hook-up or a concert nearby. Yvie gives her a hard time for never replying, prods her teasingly, wonders aloud when anyone will ever be good enough for Adore Delano. _Come on, we're the same, you never do second dates either,_ Adore always replies, giving her a punch on the arm, and Yvie laughs humorlessly. They're not the same, but Yvie won't ever tell her that, won't ever confess that she rarely gets numbers and never even gets first dates, only ever drunk girls with long nails and one-sided sex. 

It’s funny, how carelessly Adore keeps throwing out something Yvie would kill to have. 

Spotting a trash can, Yvie briefly contemplates sparing Adore the trouble this time around and throwing out the number herself. She decides against it after a moment, curling the receipt inside her fist and shoving it into her jacket pocket, electing to give Adore a chance to not be an ass about it, just this once. 

Violet has moved to straddle Adore’s lap by the time Yvie gets back to the table, her elbows placed on Adore’s shoulders and her ass propped up just enough for Adore to have room to grab handfuls. Adore’s other hand is lost in Violets curls, probably planted on the nape of her neck to pull her closer as they make out with little to no regard to their surroundings. Tiredly, Yvie rubs her temple with the heel of her palm, the short hair of her undercut tickling the skin, and announces herself by resting the bottle on the table. 

“God, can you two just get a room already?” she huffs, her whole body tense from frustration, practically itching to get her hands on a woman like Adore's doing right now, despite her disapproval - preferably a certain woman in particular.

Adore tugs on Violet’s hair to force her to break the kiss and move to the side so that she can face Yvie. “Uh, I dunno, can we?” 

Violet fidgets a little, her hands starting to wander on Adore’s body like she’s not about to let anyone interrupt them.

“C’mon, babe, gimme a minute here,” Adore chuckles and grips Violet’s waist, lifting her and depositing her on the couch next to her like she’s just a doll and not a full-sized human being. Violet just readjusts Adore’s hat on her head and reaches for her still unfinished drink on the table, instantly initiating a round of flirty glancing with someone nearby. Almost impressed, Yvie takes a sip of beer, figures that maybe Adore has finally met someone whose disinterested attitude matches hers.

“What do you mean, can you?” she asks, picking up where the conversation had left off. 

“Can I like, use the apartment? Or is your headboard gonna be banging against the wall like usual?”

Yvie glares at her, feigning affront and trying to avoid the train of thought that the mention of her banging headboard leads her towards. Adore just stares back amusedly, licking her thumb to swipe at a smear of lipstick on the corner of her own mouth. 

“She could join us,” Violet suggests coyly, still making eyes at someone a table over as if she doesn't really care one way or another. Yvie isn't sure whether she's serious, can't tell if she ought to respond with a resounding no, or just laugh it off. Luckily, Adore cuts in before she's forced to make a decision.

“Nah, babe, Yves already found herself a girl for the night,” she says easily, as if she's not at all taken aback by the situation. She directs her next words to Yvie. “So who's the lucky lady? Can tell she's got you all worked up already.”

“Does it fucking look like I have a lady with me?” Yvie demands, the pent up frustration combined with Adore's teasing finally causing her to snap. 

“Looks like there's one you want so bad you're about to fuckin' explode, or something,” Adore replies, shrugging, unbothered by Yvie's outburst. 

Yvie takes a breath, sets her jaw and forces herself to calm down. “There's no lady,” she says firmly, taking a sip as if to punctuate her words. 

However, when she lowers the bottle from her lips, she can’t help instinctively turning her head in the direction of the pool table where she last spotted the woman. She’s still there, so much faster to locate now that Yvie knows what to look for, and Yvie hates the ease with which her attention gravitates to where she’d rather it didn’t. The woman is farther away now, and it's harder to make out details, but Yvie's imagination and vivid memories of their short interaction fill in the blanks rapidly, reminding her of pale, creamy skin, of pink lips wrapped around Yvie's cigarette, of how very touchable she'd looked.

“Right,” Adore says, drawing out the word and snorting with laughter. “Sure there isn’t."

Flipping Adore off, Yvie takes another sip of her beer, not bothering to take her eyes off the woman on the other side of the bar just yet, taking her in for a few moments longer. 

“Your minute’s up, I want attention again,” Violet informs Adore.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat,” Adore says, beaming like Violet’s the most charming thing she’s ever seen. “C’mere.”

Yvie watches as Violet climbs back into Adore's lap, gripping her bottle far too tightly as Adore's hands quickly wander to inappropriate places. She averts her gaze once more, unsure if she's doing so out of politeness or out of envy, and allows her focus to narrow once again to the brunette by the pool table. She and her blonde friend are making their way towards the bar, now, and Yvie resumes drinking, keeps an eye on the two women as she leans back against the table. 

The blondie says something, gesturing languidly as she speaks, and Yvie’s woman shrieks in response, slapping her bicep and shaking her head, her hair bobbing with the movement. The friend just throws her hands up and shrugs animatedly like she’s daring the woman to take it or leave it. The two of them reach the bar, and it hits Yvie a moment late that she'd thought of the woman as hers. She closes her eyes and curses internally, abruptly needing to be far more inebriated than she currently is.

If asked about it, she’d never admit it, aloud or even to herself, really, but maybe Adore had a point when she claimed Yvie’s already set her mind on someone for the night. It’s not like Yvie is planning on taking the woman home, but she’s also well aware the chances of her convincing herself she wants anyone else are as slim as they’ll get, and she’s lived this exact scenario enough times to know how it’ll play out in the end.

Yvie pulls herself out of that negative train of thought swiftly, watching as casually as she can as the two women take shots and pointedly ignoring the way her body tenses when the brunette licks salt off the back of her hand. She doesn’t think of that tongue lapping over her lips and pushing into her mouth after, doesn’t think of it circling one of her nipples before teasingly dropping lower and tracing down her abs, definitely doesn’t think of the place she wants it so bad it physically aches, simply because she doesn’t allow herself go there as a rule of thumb. Wishing for it has never accomplished much anyway, and somewhere along the road Yvie has learned it’s better to keep one’s expectations realistic.

“So are you gonna go get her, Yves?” Adore says loudly. “Or d'you wanna take Vi up on that offer to join us after all?”

Yvie glances over to find Adore peering at her from over Violet's shoulder, both hands pushed in Violet's back pockets now, and fixes her with a look that she hopes properly communicates how utterly unamused she is. 

"You got that strap-on, don't ya?” Adore prods, grinning mischievously. “We could use that for sure.”

“Didn’t realize you need outside help to keep your girls satisfied, Delano,” Yvie retorts. “Losing your game, huh? Problems with stamina?”

“Maybe some of us can just… _take_ more, if you know what I mean,” Violet purrs, a seductive little sparkle in her eyes as she turns to look at Yvie.

“Okay, now, let’s not get carried away there,” Adore says roughly, clearing her throat, pulling Violet's hips against hers in a smooth motion. One hand slides out of Violet's back pocket, moves up to catch Violet's chin, drawing her easily back in with what sounds like a low growl. Her touch is visibly firm, and she seems a mixture of amused and annoyed, like someone handling a kitten who’s started to crawl off in the wrong direction. She pulls Violet in to kiss her again, and that's when Yvie stops watching. 

She glances back at the bar, expecting to see her woman leant against it still with another drink, but she and her friend are gone. Cursing under her breath, Yvie takes one last sip of her beer before discarding it on the table and pushing her hands into her jacket pockets in frustration, one fist closing around her lighter reflexively. Among the familiar things she normally keeps there, she finds a folded piece of paper and remembers the receipt with the bartender's number. She spares a glance at Adore, finding her with her hands sliding up inside Violet's shirt, and once again contemplates whether or not to give her the number at all. 

Before she can rule against it, Adore’s hands slide higher, and Yvie realizes she’s fiddling with the hooks of Violet’s bra, apparently determined to undo them. The way Violet curves her back looks awfully helpful, like she’s not even attempting to stop Adore. Yvie thins her lips and decides she’s feeling spiteful enough to interrupt them and not be sorry about it. Retrieving the receipt, she slams it on the table, making sure her palm comes in contact with the surface hard enough to produce a sound.

“Wha?” Adore peers over Violet's shoulder, mouth open.

“Bartender gave you her number,” Yvie says coolly. “You know, the one with the ass you liked so much?”

“Oh, yeah,” Adore says after a pause that's slightly too long, her hands now resting on Violet's lower back. Violet grabs one of her wrists, and slides her hand back down, her fingers clasped over Adore's to press them against her skin, sliding their two hands into her shorts as if to prove that her own ass is just as likable, and probably more so. 

With a gravity-defying eye roll, Yvie turns back to face the room, an annoying but very persistent part of her hoping she’ll see the woman, but she has no such luck. Almost obsessively flipping the lighter in her fist she gives Adore and Violet one last glance. They’re completely engrossed in each other, Adore’s mouth on Violet’s ear now, and by the way Violet keeps squirming against her, Yvie could bet anything the stuff she’s whispering is extremely filthy. Tightening her jaw, Yvie decides it's definitely time for another smoke. 

What was the eerily quiet smoking area has now turned into something even louder than the bar itself. Yvie has to force the door open, and when she finally slips outside, the two girls smoking right in front of it barely disrupt their lively chatter to move aside and let her through. Drawing her shoulders up and trying to make herself as lean and small as possible, she shoves her hands into her jean pockets and sidesteps around the circle of people, set on making her way to the wall so she’s not out in the open like this.

There’s a consistent stream of people against her, opting to get back inside, and it takes her a while to push through the crowd and spot a suitable space, near the edge of the area. As she reaches it, her shoulder knocks into someone's back, and she mumbles an apology as she settles against the wall. The person beside her moves away from the wall, assumedly to allow her more space, and Yvie glances over and feels her stomach drop.

She’s staring right back at Yvie, and even when her eyes are widened in surprise and her mouth forms a tiny ‘o’, she somehow manages to look sultry. She’s not wearing the blazer anymore, which makes the dress appear even thinner and flimsier, and she’s holding a cigarette halfway to her mouth and apparently forgotten. Yvie leers at it, registers the white filter instead of the orange of her own smokes, catches herself thinking she doesn’t want the woman smoking anything but her L&Ms, preferably lit by none other than herself, and hates the intensity and possessiveness of the thought enough to try and physically shake it off.

“Hey!” the woman blinks and points at Yvie with her cigarette. “You’re the mean daddy with the light.”

Yvie stares, her brain slowing down as all the blood rushes between her legs, her hands going slack in her pockets. The woman's heated gaze is wandering slowly over Yvie's face and her upper body, and when she brings the cigarette to her lips and takes a long drag, Yvie swears she feels it. She's not holding a drink this time, no chance of her being forced back inside, and her slender shoulder is leaned against the wall, and it would be so easy to advance on her, so easy to say just the right thing to make her sink into the brick and beg to be touched, and Yvie wrestles with the raw desire that's been biting at her heels all night, resisting the urge to fall all the way into the trap. 

“I'm not your daddy,” she husks lowly, pretty sure she's not convincing anyone at this point, not even herself. 

The woman takes a step closer, her shoulder still connected with the brick and dragging on it, and before Yvie can will her own feet to work in order to back down, she outstretches her arm and hooks two of her fingers through Yvie’s belt loop. “You wanna be?”

It’s primal, really, the way Yvie grabs her upper arms and pushes her against the wall, her own frame shielding the woman from the rest of the smoking area as she presses one forearm next to her head and places her other hand on the woman’s hip, her body acting long before her brain catches up. The woman’s eyes widen again, the impact punching the air out of her, and for a split second Yvie feels bad about her roughness, but that thought evaporates as soon as the woman’s tongue slips out and wets her lower lip, the corner of her mouth twisting up mischievously.

“Thought so,” she rasps out, still breathless.

Yvie doesn’t let her gasp for air, surges forward and locks their lips, kisses her to shut her up, to wipe that expression off her face, to leave her lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. She's soft against the wall, barely any resistance to the hard press of Yvie's body, her mouth opening easily with a faint whimper like she's begging to be taken, and Yvie hates her for every bit of it. She hates herself, too, for how she gives into it, how she lets herself go and digs her fingers into the woman's hip like she's trying to leave bruises, how she deepens the kiss, how her skin heats up and her head goes dizzy with wanting and wanting and needing.

She pins the woman down with her hips, the insistent pulsing somewhere in her core causing her to search for any friction she can get. The woman responds by lightly nudging into the contact and clasping Yvie’s biceps, the leather squeaking under her long nails. It angers Yvie, reminds her of how she’s doing the exact opposite of what she planned to, should sober her up, but then the woman moans and brings one of her hands to the nape of Yvie’s neck to pull her closer, and Yvie is gone again.

Her hand is slipping up the woman's waist before she knows it, practically of its own accord, thumb pressing deep into the underside of her breast and palm holding her ribs securely against the wall. The woman’s chest is expanding and contracting rapidly, pressing into the touch, and Yvie allows her to break the kiss but doesn't move her hand away. Catching her own breath, she watches that pretty mouth gape open, lips darker than before and slick with spit, pupils so wide Yvie could fall into them, her head dropping back against the brick and exposing the shallow curve of her neck. 

The air is thick with perfume and cigarette smoke and desire, and Yvie tastes vanilla as she runs her tongue over her own lips, her lungs still almost achingly desperate for oxygen. The woman looks gorgeous, so ardent, so pliant, so very willing, and for a moment, as Yvie watches the frantic heaving of her chest, feels it under her palm, she forgets what’s pissing her off so much to begin with. The woman meets Yvie's eyes, and tilts her chin up a few inches, turning her head just a little and baring her throat, and it's somehow teasing and an invitation all at once and Yvie throws caution to the wind, rubs the pad of her thumb over the woman's hardened nipple and leans in to take what's being offered. 

Yvie's tongue touches skin first, searching for the woman's pulse, and her eyes flutter shut as she finds it, pressing an open mouthed kiss to the spot, far more gently than she intends to. There's a shudder that runs through the soft body against hers, and nails digging so hard into her biceps, and a needy whine as the woman squirms.  
“Daddy…” she gasps, and Yvie hisses, drags her teeth against the skin. “More.”

Her voice is a shade darker now, prominently turned on, and Yvie wonders whether the rest of her body is, too, wonders if she’d feel it were she to reach under the dress and cup the woman’s cunt, if she’d be able to smell her arousal on her fingers, maybe even taste it after, wonders if the panties the woman’s wearing are soaking as fast as Yvie’s own are upon being called daddy and having an eager body under her own. She has to stop herself from letting her hand explore, instead forcing her leg between the woman’s and pushing her thigh up, higher until she’s pressing it against her heat.

The woman moans again, clawing at Yvie’s jacket, her hips rocking into the contact, and Yvie is sure that her tiny dress is rolled up too far by now, sure that people are watching, and she catches herself wanting to be seen, wanting everyone to know what’s hers, even if superficially. Yvie sinks her teeth into the woman’s neck and feels her melt, whining gorgeously as Yvie closes her lips around the skin and sucks. 

The thing is, Yvie has no claim to lay, but some untamed part of her _needs_ to mark the woman up so that whatever man comes after her knows she’s already been taken and used, ruined for him, ridden like a racehorse and put away wet. The remaining anger surging in her chest at the impulse, Yvie shoves her thigh tighter between the woman’s, stopping her from rocking forwards and trapping her firmly against the wall, mouth still working at her neck. It’s so very easy, to sink her teeth into the soft flesh over and over until the sighs the woman’s letting out are intertwined with tiny sobs.

Before long, Yvie stops biting, her lips still latched on the skin, and lets her tongue gently circle the spot. The woman shivers with a mumbled noise and goes even more slack than she’s been, staying upright only because Yvie’s body is right there to steady her.

Yvie pulls back a little, her gaze scanning the sight in front of her, the woman’s tight grip on her shoulders keeping her pressed close, holding the two of them still. The woman’s breathing is rough, her pout prettier than ever, her eyes unfocused and glossy as if they were watering while Yvie stayed on her neck, the mark blooming perfectly below her jaw. Her hair is even messier now, and one of the straps of her dress is threatening to slide off her shoulder. On some weird reflex, Yvie detaches her arm from the wall and moves to readjust it, and the woman’s hand snaps to grab Yvie’s wrist.

“So,” she drawls, her voice low like she needs to clear her throat. “You gonna feel me up outside a cheap bar all night, or are you gonna take me home, daddy?”

Yvie narrows her eyes, disbelieving that despite their position, the woman is still keeping up the façade of power play and making demands like she isn’t literally depending on Yvie to stay standing. With a scoff, she shakes her head and begins to lean farther away, and the woman raises an eyebrow at her.

“…Or do I need to find someone else to give me some dick and get me stoned afterwards?”

Yvie stares at her, open-mouthed at her nerve, the last of her resistance destroyed by the image of her spread out and taking Yvie’s strap how Yvie wants her to. After a moment, the woman cranes her neck a little, her gaze starting to wander over the other people in the smoking area as if she’s searching for that someone else. There’s no rational way she would be able to collect herself and advance on anybody in the state Yvie’s reduced her to, but Yvie has given up all logical thinking a good while ago, so she acts instinctively, her hand flying up from the woman’s breast to wrap around her throat, thumb under her jaw forcing her eyes back to Yvie’s face.

“I’m going to fuck that attitude right out of you,” she growls, articulating each word carefully. 

The woman’s reaction is instantaneous, a rapid intake of breath and her thighs clenching together on either side of Yvie’s, a faint whimper escaping her. Yvie has to suppress a victorious smirk, knows she’s probably leaking, wonders if there’ll be a damp spot on her jeans where the dark fabric is pressed against the woman’s panties.

“We’ll see about that, daddy,” the woman says breathlessly, clearly struggling to get the words out, a stinging contrast to the smugness of what she’s said.

Yvie lets go of her and straightens her posture, stepping back and rolling her shoulders. “Oh, we will.”

Spinning around, she starts toward the door, expecting the woman to follow suit without being told. As she makes her way through the crowd, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and opens the Uber app, swiftly ordering them one. The faster she gets them out of there, the less time she’ll have to reconsider her shitty life decisions and regret everything. She’ll have the entirety of tomorrow morning to do just that, anyway.

She doesn’t glance back until she’s at the door, and just like she assumed, the woman is trailing right behind her, slightly unsteady in her heels. Yvie isn’t sure if she’s wobbly because of the alcohol or because she’s so worked up she can’t recompose herself proper. Either way, there’s something so very precious about her in that moment, and Yvie despises how small and cute she looks as she’s hugging herself and how Yvie’s insides twitch with the need to keep her safe.

“Aren’t you cold?” she barks out, furious with herself for even thinking that.

“Nah-uh,” the woman shakes her head animatedly, her arms still wrapped around her middle. “‘M pleasantly warm.”

“That’s alcohol talking,” Yvie snaps, and then, before she can scold herself, adds, “Here, take my jacket.”

She shrugs it off, steps closer to the woman, intending to merely drape it over her shoulders like the blazer had been earlier, but the woman stretches out her arm, clearly expecting Yvie to put it on her. Too surprised to protest, Yvie helps her into the jacket, cursing at herself internally for doing something so caring when she knows she ought to be getting as far away from the woman next to her as possible. Yvie moves backwards again, watches her pull the jacket around her body, almost like she’s snuggling into it, the worn black leather swallowing her up and making her look petite and somehow even more feminine than before. Her eyes narrow prettily, her hair fluffy around her shoulders, and Yvie’s chest is suddenly tight at the sight of her. Clearing her throat, Yvie folds her arms beneath her breasts and turns to head inside, needing to get away, not liking the way her breath catches and her stomach twists as she stares at the woman in her clothing.

“Meet me at the exit in ten, our ride is on its way,” she throws over her shoulder before entering. 

Adore and Violet are intertwined pretty much the same as they were when Yvie left, Violet still on top of Adore and their lips connected. Adore’s hand is quick to withdraw from where it’s been fitted between their bodies when Yvie kicks her shin to get her attention, and Yvie tries not to think of the place she suspects it was.

“I’m getting outta here,” Yvie announces curtly, raising her voice over the music. “Give me an hour’s head start?”

“Sure, I could do this for ages,” Adore says agreeably, drying her fingers on Violet’s shirt and then wiping her mouth with the heel of her palm, only accomplishing smearing the two colors of lipstick even more. Violet’s hands are still wandering over Adore’s upper body, and Adore makes no move to stop her. “Where’s the chick?” 

“Not here.” 

“Neither is your jacket,” Adore comments, and it should be nothing more than a casual observation, but the suggestive tone of her voice rubs Yvie the wrong way.

“I was hot,” she bites out, lying through her teeth and too sexually frustrated and pissed at the situation to give a damn. “And it’s none of your business.”

“Guess the smoke break didn’t calm you down, huh Yves,” Adore says with a snort. 

“I wasn’t smoking.” 

“Yeah? What were you doing, then?” Adore smirks wickedly. “Or should I say ‘who’?”

“Are you going to leave or not?” Violet cuts in rather sharply before Yvie can clap back, looking over her shoulder. “We were kinda busy here.”

Adore turns to Violet with a shitty laugh escaping her. Yvie opens her mouth to reply, but whatever snarky one-liner she was thinking of gets stuck in her throat when she senses a leather-clad arm snake around her own bare one, and then, just a beat later, a warm, delicate hand clutching hers tightly. Yvie’s whole body locks up and her heart sinks before starting to hammer in her chest, every fibre of her being resisting the intimacy of the contact until she feels a little sick. The woman’s body presses closer still, perfume making Yvie’s head spin, and when her chin comes to rest on Yvie’s shoulder, Yvie can’t help the way her breath catches, can’t help gripping the woman’s hand instinctively. 

“Ready, daddy?”

Her voice is loud enough for Adore to flip around in their direction. There’s a playful crinkle in the corners of her eyes, her full lips stretched in a grin as she turns her gaze to Yvie, and Yvie watches, almost like in slow-motion, how her expression darkens. It’s like witnessing the amusement gradually drain, the way Adore’s brow furrows and her mouth adopts a displeased tilt, her hand sternly grabbing both Violet’s wrists to stop her from groping her waist.

“No,” Adore says.

“Yes,” Yvie replies pointedly, shaking her head so slightly it’s hardly even noticeable, like she’s prohibiting Adore from saying it aloud.

“Are you, like, serious right now?” 

“Do I look like I’m joking, Delano?” Yvie feels tenser than ever, and realizes that she’s holding onto the woman’s hand even more tightly now, but can’t bring herself to relax. The woman’s chin tucks into her shoulder, her hair brushing Yvie’s jaw and her other arm winding around Yvie’s so she’s practically clinging to her with her whole body. Yvie’s not sure whether the gesture is meant to be soothing or possessive, but there’s disarming surge of emotion in her chest nonetheless, and she grits her teeth in an attempt to suppress it.

“C’mon, not again.” There’s no amusement in Adore’s gaze now, and Yvie has to wrestle with herself so as not to raise her voice.

“Drop it,” she hisses.

“You made me promise not to let you,” Adore presses.

“I said, drop it.”

“I swear to fucking God, Bridges.”

Yvie quirks an eyebrow, fixing Adore a challenging look. “What are you going to do about it?”

There’s a pause, the two of them staring each other down as Violet shifts in Adore’s lap with a sigh and the woman pressed against Yvie wriggles slightly, her thumb rubbing against Yvie’s forearm as if attempting to dispel the tension.

“Sooooo, It’s _super_ nice to meet you both,” the woman speaks up finally, drawing out her words, a barely perceptible note of sarcasm in her tone that Yvie thinks someone less observant might miss. Her head lifts from Yvie’s shoulder abruptly, as if she’s just recalled something, and Yvie glances over at her, furrowing at the woman’s cocked eyebrows.

“Oh, I never said,” she says, blinking. Yvie tilts her head, confused. “My name,” she continues with a nod, almost as if she’s proud at herself for having the information, and Adore snorts loudly. “It’s Scarlet.”

“Good for you, babe,” Yvie says snappily, decisively ignoring the unvoiced question and leaving the woman with nothing but daddy to call her. “Our Uber is here, let’s go.”

She starts to pull the woman — _Scarlet_ , she mouths soundlessly, as if she’s trying to see where the name fits on her tongue, how it tastes — away, stiffening slightly as Scarlet’s free hand wraps around her bicep, and then stops in her tracks, looking back over at Adore. “An hour, remember.” 

Adore scoffs, her attention focused on Violet once more, and shakes her head. “Like you’re gonna need that long with that one.” 

Clenching her jaw, Yvie turns on her heel, yanking Scarlet after her, intent on getting away from her roommate as fast as possible. Scarlet squeaks, giggling a little, seemingly completely oblivious to the implication of Adore’s words, and allows Yvie to drag her through the bar. There’s a fresh flame of the same outraged fire that’s been burning inside Yvie all night kindling anew, licking at Yvie’s skin. She doesn’t know what she’s so furious at, if it’s Adore or the fact Yvie slipped up and allowed her to see her girl of choice, or that Scarlet isn’t an exception as much as she is the rule, not an ounce straighter than Yvie’s previous hookup had been. 

The thing is, there’s no malice in Adore’s actions, no ill intention, only the traces of worry left over from before Yvie had developed a thicker skin and learned to hide how much it hurt every time, when Adore had been left to pick up the pieces and drag her out of the dark places she fell into. She had made Adore promise to stop her should she attempt to relapse, that much was true, but like any addict, she had found ways to get her fix without anyone knowing about it, lacking the self control and self esteem to stay away from women like Scarlet. That’s why Adore never saw her girls, just heard the creaks of the bed and the moans and the wild, exaggerated stories afterwards.

Yvie slows her pace once they’re out of Adore’s line of vision, keeping a tight grip on Scarlet and shooting an icy glare at anyone who gives them a second glance. With the way people start to move out of their path, it doesn’t take too long to reach the exit, and Yvie keeps her focus straight ahead until they’re outside, pausing briefly on the pavement under the arched awning. 

“Is it here?” Scarlet asks, and Yvie looks over at her. 

It’s brighter out front of the bar, the lights under the awning illuminating her features in a new way, and Yvie’s throat feels uncomfortably full. Her eyes are a cool blue, almost gray, and they’re wide and soft and inexplicably trusting, the smudges of eyeliner even more worn now, and Yvie itches to get her hands on her again, to keep her this close, permanently within arm’s reach so no one else can touch her. 

Instead she grabs her phone from the pocket of her jeans and, like the fool she is, checks the model of the car picking them up despite the information being of no use to her whatsoever, as if she has any knowledge of car models and will be able to identify this one and guide Scarlet there with the same confident composure she’s been maintaining all night.

“It’s here, it’s a Hyundai Sonata, apparently,” she mumbles, lifting her gaze and scanning the cars parked against the curb of the sidewalk as if one of them is going to tell her it’s the one.

“Huh,” Scarlet muses and glances up, too. “It’s right there.”

She’s pointing to a dark blue car pulled up to the corner nearby, her other hand still clutching Yvie’s tightly, and Yvie squints at the car, then looks over at her, more than a little dumbfounded that the tipsy straight girl who’s been clinging to her arm and playing ditzy all night can pick out a car model in a matter of moments. Scarlet blinks back at her, as if there’s nothing at all strange about the situation, and all Yvie can think is that either one of her previous boyfriends must’ve taught her, or that she’s a bit drunker than Yvie had thought and entirely untrustworthy. 

“You sure?” Yvie says, just to be an asshole about it.

“Positive,” Scarlet confirms, a drop of venomous sweetness in her tone. Her free hand wraps around Yvie's bicep again, and she bats her eyelashes a few times, nails digging into Yvie's skin so there's no mistaking the catty, teasing edge to her voice. “What, Daddy, shouldn’t a lady like you know all ‘bout cars?” 

Yvie’s stomach drops, and she grimaces, hating how Scarlet’s words go straight between her legs, hating that her attitude is somehow a turn on. “I have a bike,” she bites out, picturing and then immediately dismissing the idea of Scarlet straddling the back of her Yamaha, dress rolling up and her thighs against the leather of the seat. “I don’t need to know.”

“Ooh,” Scarlet coos, leaning in closer and shaking her shoulders a little, and Yvie can’t decide if she's mocking or not. “So the biker jacket isn’t just for _the look_?”

“No, it isn’t,” Yvie says simply, refusing to indulge Scarlet’s playful provoking and starting to drag her toward the vehicle she pointed out.

It isn’t until Scarlet is shooting her an extremely satisfied look and climbing in the backseat that Yvie realizes she automatically held the door open for her. Scolding herself mentally, Yvie slams the door shut with the amount of force that will most likely drop her rating by at least two stars and circles the car to get in behind the driver.

The interior is nice, with R&B music playing softly and dark leather seats. Scarlet is settling herself onto her side of the backseat, making little humming noises as she wriggles in place and pushes her hair back, her tongue poking out slightly and her expression serious, as if her temporary comfort in the back of someone else’s car is absolutely essential. She takes her purse off her shoulder, setting it between her and the door, and then readjusts Yvie's jacket on her shoulders and, after a moment of hesitation, slips her hands into the pockets. There's something so endearing about how she does it, her movements unsure for the first time all night, and there’s a part of Yvie that wants to reassure her that it’s okay, but then she remembers it’s her jacket, and it’s all her stuff in the pockets, and she imagines Scarlet fisting her lighter, rubbing her thumb over the words carved into the metal, and the thought makes her uncomfortable, almost anxious. She wrestles with the desire to take her things back, tries to swallow past the unjustified panic in her throat, and presses the backs of her fingers to her mouth instead, turning to look out of the tinted window.

“So,” Scarlet starts and Yvie barely constricts a groan. “Was that your friend back at the bar? She seemed… very nice.”

“Roommate,” Yvie says. 

She doesn’t bother to look at Scarlet, even though she wants to, and resists the urge to express any amusement at the other woman’s tone. Scarlet, it seems, speaks the same language as her, sarcasm, and is just as fluent as Yvie herself. It shouldn’t mean anything, that connection, it doesn’t mean anything, really, but it makes Yvie _like_ Scarlet, consider that they’d maybe get along, could perhaps, in a different world, be something more than two incompatible women using each other for sex and weed and one night of feeling anything at all.

“Oh, I was there with my roommate Pearl too,” Scarlet chirps, seemingly not perplexed by Yvie’s curtness. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” Yvie says in a tone that hopefully conveys she does not, in fact, find it at all hilarious.

There’s another soft hum from Scarlet, and then a pause, the rustling of the leather audible over the music that's playing. Scarlet gives a little sigh, one that sounds rather dramatic, and Yvie pictures her pouting from not being paid enough attention. After a moment, Yvie notices motion in her peripheral vision, and glances over to find Scarlet leaning forwards, her arms wrapped around the passenger seat in front of her. 

“Nice car,” Scarlet says to the driver, a man whose name Yvie read just a few minutes ago but can't be bothered to remember. “Leather seats were extra, right?” 

Yvie zones out once the man starts to reply, stops paying attention the moment she realizes he’s not even given a yes or no answer, and instead begun a long narrative about cars and prices and luxury models that Yvie can already tell is going to be exhausting. She doesn't understand much of it, and finds herself staring at Scarlet while the woman is focused on something else, watching her lips slowly curl up into a little smile as the man rambles away. Yvie feels the frustration building all over again, unable to explain Scarlet’s behavior as anything other than flirting with this random Uber driver simply because he's male. 

“Darling,” Scarlet cuts in, her low, amused voice interrupting him mid-sentence and making Yvie shiver, convinced by the feeling in her abdomen that she might turn into a puddle right there against the seat. “I know how car prices work. The question was rhetorical.” 

There’s no missing a condescending tint in Scarlet’s words, and the driver shuts up abruptly. Yvie senses a chuckle rise deep in her chest, and she tries to suppress it, failing and coughing it out in the end. Scarlet, looking entirely too pleased with herself, pats the driver's shoulder and then lets go of the seat in front of her and falls back into her previous position. Yvie can’t decide whether she's more amused by the situation or aroused by Scarlet's handling of it, and she finds herself crossing her ankles to press her thighs together, her gut twisting as she feels how damp her panties are. She watches Scarlet fuss with her purse out of the corner of her eye, and clears her throat, aware now that Scarlet hadn’t been flirting at all and feeling a bit bad for the assumptions she had made. 

Clearly noticing that she’s got Yvie’s attention again, Scarlet shifts in her seat, rotating her upper body a little. “So, what do you do for a living?” she asks casually. like she didn’t just scalp their driver and they’re just in the middle of the game of 20 questions.

“I wait tables,” Yvie grunts.

“Where?” Scarlet continues.

“In a restaurant.” 

Yvie doesn’t give the conversation room to expand, not about to share her life’s ambitions with a woman she'll never see again after tonight. She doesn't mention that she wants to paint for a living, that she rents a small studio space crowded with giant canvases and turns them into messes in her free time. She doesn’t mention that her work is usually too conceptual or odd to interest buyers, or that the lack of inspiration in her recent pieces has slowed her down and made her work even less lucrative, either. After all, Scarlet had asked about her job, not about her dreams or the local art community she's trying to work her way into, alone, by sheer force of will.

“Well, that’s nice,” Scarlet says, after a moment of pointed silence that Yvie ignores. “I work at an upscale vintage shop.” 

Taken aback by how unlikely the occupation is, Yvie glances over, and is met with Scarlet’s smirk as the woman pushes her hair back and shrugs.

“Unusual, right?” Scarlet agrees. “I always say that I sell shit no one needs to people who don't need anything at all.” 

“You undeniably have a knack for that,” Yvie says with a snort. 

“I once sold a cheap candelabra to a rich tourist for ten times its worth by claiming it had been owned by Elizabeth Taylor and used in one of her more obscure films,” Scarlet announces. Her casual tone implies it's nothing all that impressive, but the way she tilts her head from one side to the other and glances upwards impatiently makes it very clear that she’s boasting and expects praise in response. 

“Impressive,” Yvie says dryly, not intending to indulge her.

Scarlet huffs and starts toying with the hem of her dress, drawing Yvie’s gaze like a magnet to her pale thighs. She stares for a moment, her stomach dropping as she teeters on the edge of spiraling into filthy fantasies once more, and then forces herself to look away. They’re stopped at a red light, and Yvie notices the driver leering at something in the rearview mirror, taking only a second to follow his line of vision straight to Scarlet’s cleavage. Yvie tenses up, furious at his nerve and her own possessive instinct, only narrowly resisting the urge to snap at him to keep his eyes off of what doesn’t belong to him. She settles for knocking her boot against the back of his seat and staring him down in the rearview, hoping the look on her face conveys her desire to kick all the way through the upholstery and shove her foot up his ass. 

Before she can act on her fantasies, they round the familiar corner and Yvie’s apartment building comes into view. “Here’s fine,” she tells him in an unimpressed voice without waiting for them to drive closer to the entrance, itching to leave the vehicle already and get Scarlet as far away from this creep as possible while she’s at it.

The guy parks next to the sidewalk and Yvie cracks the door open before they’ve even stopped moving, hopping out of the car and glancing back to make sure Scarlet is following. Instead of using her own door, Scarlet slides across the leather of the backseat and exits through Yvie’s side. Yvie impulsively grabs her elbow, as if ready to tug her closer to herself if need be, and pulls her out of the way to throw the door closed without another word. 

Letting go of Scarlet’s elbow, Yvie slips her hand under the jacket to rest it on the small of her back instead, feeling Scarlet lean in closer at her touch with a pleased hum. Yvie glances over her shoulder to see the driver watching the two of them from the car, and narrows her eyes, wishing she could burn a hole in his window, until he starts to pull away from the curb. Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she opens the app to rate the ride, and Scarlet shakes her head.

“Give him a bad rating,” she says, her lips close to Yvie's ear, and Yvie can practically hear the sneer in her voice, feels it go straight between her own thighs. “You saw the bastard staring.” 

“Two steps ahead of you,” she assures, her thumb sliding on the screen quickly. Come on.”

Locking her phone and pushing it into her back pocket, she starts guiding Scarlet to the entrance. Scarlet stumbles just a little before finding her step, but it’s enough to justify Yvie keeping her hand on her back. The night isn’t at all warm, and the chilly air against Yvie’s bare skin gives her goosebumps. She imagines Scarlet’s thighs must be the same way, imagines they’ll still feel cold under her touch when she’ll spread them, imagines stroking the skin with her palm to get the blood flowing right before she pinches, imagines Scarlet whining and opening her legs more at that, and suddenly she feels hot all over, a little unsteady herself.

The elevator of the building is probably straight from the 80’s and sounds like each trip up is its last one, so Yvie takes the stairs whenever she doesn’t have a tipsy girl with her. She presses the button, Scarlet leaning against her, and recalls the only hook-up who she hadn't done this exact thing with — a girl named Kahanna, who’d taken one look at the elevator and teased that she’d race Yvie up the stairs instead. Although they hadn't quite raced, Yvie had realized quickly that Kahanna hadn't been joking about her premium gym membership or her daily runs when the woman had pushed Yvie down onto the bed and ridden her like a stallion, moaning and cursing, leaving Yvie to do nothing but grab her muscular thighs and watch her tits bounce in her bra. 

Kahanna hadn’t ceased surprising her after that, either, had crawled down her body and sucked herself off of Yvie's strap like a pro. Yvie had grabbed a fistful of her curls to guide her head, closed her eyes, and imagined that she was guiding Kahanna’s head between her legs, instead, grinding her pussy against the woman’s tongue like she so desperately wanted to, fantasizing that maybe she wasn’t straight after all. Kahanna had left shortly after, chirping her goodbyes from the doorway, and Yvie’s fingers were on her clit and her mind still on that same image before Kahanna was even out of the building. 

After she’d come, she had gone to the balcony to lose the last of her feelings in the cold night air along with her cigarette smoke, reminding herself almost bitterly with every drag that no one would ever bother to waste their time trying to take care of her in return, and that maybe it was better they didn't, that she was too much of everything, too difficult and too picky and not worth wanting that way. 

The space in the elevator is big enough for them to stand apart without touching, but for some reason Scarlet stays attached to Yvie’s side during their ride up, her hips nudging against Yvie’s thigh so subtly it would be barely noticeable were Yvie’s senses not sharp and overly heightened. There’s a pause between the elevator coming to a stop and the door clicking in a signal of being ready to be opened, as always long enough for Yvie’s heart to jump to her throat in fear and remember why she hates the damn metal box so much. She rushes to push out, her fingers wrapping around Scarlet's waist now to keep her steady as she pulls her along. Once they're on solid ground again, it's only a few steps to the apartment door, but getting there takes longer than it ought to with the weight of Scarlet’s body against Yvie’s slowing them down and proving to be exceptionally distracting. 

“My keys," Yvie mutters, fumbling with the leather of her jacket, and Scarlet perks up a little, sliding her hand into the pocket before Yvie can find it. 

With a triumphant little noise, Scarlet pulls out the keys, waggling them between her index finger and thumb, unreasonably proud of herself. Yvie shakes her head, moving out of the way and directly behind Scarlet instead to give her room. After a moment, she rests her hands on the woman’s slender waist and slides them down to grip her hips, thoroughly enjoying how Scarlet shifts and pushes her ass back against Yvie at the touch. There's a number of keys on the ring, and Yvie wonders how long it'll take her to find the right one, an entertained smile on her face as she presses closer to Scarlet’s back, turning her face into her brown hair to breathe in the scent of roses and cigarette smoke and faint coconut from her shampoo, noses the locks and lightly blows at the back of her neck to tickle the skin. Scarlet huffs, and Yvie leans in to see, brushing her lips over the corner of Scarlet's jaw teasingly and watching the woman's hands grow even shakier in response as she finally tries the right key. 

The lock turns with a characteristic rusty noise, and Yvie moves farther into Scarlet's space, palming the fronts of her hips, one foot lifted off the ground as if she’s mid-step, ready for the door they’re currently nearly crushed against to swing inwards as soon as Scarlet manages to press on the handle. Her body is so set on the movement she’s prepared to make that it shocks her when instead of wobbling forth, Scarlet swiftly twists around in her grasp and slumps against the wooden surface, fisting the front of Yvie’s crop top and pulling her with her so their bodies collide heavily and slamming their lips together urgently, as if she's been craving the taste and the contact ever since they left the smoking area earlier and has had enough of waiting.

The kiss is different from those they shared back outside the bar, less teeth and more lips, almost gentler, but just as passionate and fiery. Yvie moans into the impact, caught off guard by Scarlet initiating like this, her control wavering for the first time tonight, but then Scarlet suddenly opens her mouth to invite Yvie’s tongue to explore, the willingness of the action shifting the power balance once more in Yvie’s favor. Scarlet’s whole body is so receptive to every single movement that Yvie’s knees buckle a little, the effect of having someone at her mercy like this dizzying and electrifying. She digs her fingertips into Scarlet’s waist harder, tries to convince herself it’s to ground the other, but then she bites down on Scarlet’s lower lip, and Scarlet whimpers so gorgeously that suddenly the point of contact is to anchor Yvie instead.

“Daddy,” Scarlet whines quietly, like she’s pleading, trying to load the word with everything she wants Yvie to do to her, and Yvie feels herself throb in response, just a single twitch of her core that makes her want to double over.

With determination, she reaches past Scarlet and grabs her hand that is still securely planted on the door handle, and presses down ardently. The door gives way, falling open behind Scarlet’s back, and the two of them stumble into the apartment, their lips still connected, barely staying on their feet. A part of Yvie just wants to take Scarlet right here, right now, shove her against the wall next to the entrance without bothering to slam the door shut and pull her panties down, have her hook her leg around her waist and feel her heat and wetness on her fingers, hear how broken her moans get as she pushes in with two, three, maybe even four of them and opens her up proper. However, there’s another part of her, the one that wants to dick Scarlet down, ruin her cunt for every other person who has her after, see her stretching around her strap and begging for more like a little cockslut, and this part is far louder, turning everything else into static white noise in the background.

“My bedroom. Now. _Right now_ ,” Yvie grunts between kisses that have become just ruthless colliding of their mouths, no finesse to it.

Scarlet lets out an agreeable noise, high-pitched and desperate, and Yvie pushes the jacket off her shoulders, ignores the heavy thump as it falls to the ground, not even making an attempt to collect it like she normally would, unable to think of anything except Scarlet squirming on her cock, dripping and whining and grabbing for her. She presses them back towards her room blindly, attacking Scarlet’s lips like she wants to devour her, needing to leave them bruised like her throat, dark red, claimed and sore long after Yvie finishes with her. Scarlet winds her arms around Yvie’s neck, practically clinging to her as she struggles to match her pace, and Yvie bites down on her lower lip and grabs a handful of her ass, squeezing roughly and eliciting a pained gasp. The bedroom door is right there, and Yvie slams her free forearm against to force it open, quickly catching it with her footas soon as they're inside and kicking it closed with a resounding _thud_. 

It only takes Yvie a couple short seconds to shut the door, but it’s enough time for Scarlet to lift her knee and pull one of her heels off, her other hand still on Yvie’s neck. She hastily drops the shoe on the floor as Yvie starts moving toward the bed, still backing her up, and Yvie momentarily remembers that an intoxicated woman in one heel is a health hazard and she should probably slow down, but then Scarlet clings to her even tighter, like she’s surrendering, giving it all up for Yvie to have, and Yvie promptly stops thinking, lets her feral side take over again.

Scarlet doesn’t waste a moment longer either, manages to step out of her other shoe, and suddenly the angle changes, Scarlet now so much shorter than her, small and delicate and breakable in her palms, and Yvie wants to curse, wants to ravage and wreck her, wants to draw her impossibly close and snarl at anyone who comes near her. She recoils at the thought immediately, worked up and furious with herself and ready to break something, her hands flexing on Scarlet’s body as she throws the other woman onto the bed with a growl. 

Scarlet stays where she’s been discarded, sprawled out on the comforter without readjusting her position, like a little sex toy eager to be used. She looks up at Yvie through half-lidded eyes and draws her knees closer to her body as her chest keeps expanding visibly, allowing Yvie a brief glimpse of her red panties before she closes her legs, just long enough for her to notice how very wet the material is, nearly soaked through. Yvie sucks on her own lower lip, gnawing the skin, and raises her hand as if she wants to caress Scarlet’s shin, almost contemplates leaning over her and kissing her dirtily, almost dreams about scratching the strap and covering Scarlet’s frame with her own instead, pressing her into the mattress and making her come on her fingers over and over again until Scarlet is simultaneously begging her to stop and pleading for one more. But that isn’t what Scarlet asked for, that’s never the thing girls like Scarlet ask for or want, and Yvie has trained herself to stop feeling conflicted between lusting to get her hands on a woman proper and needing to prove her point, has chosen to go for as little skin on skin contact as each situation possibly allows.

As Scarlet arches her back a little and pushes her hips forward, her muscles noticeably tensed, Yvie swears she can smell her cunt, practically tastes it, and the saliva pooling under her tongue in response makes her curse under her breath as she turns away abruptly and makes her way over to her closet. She digs her fingers into the knotted laces of her boots, untying and then yanking them off with unnecessary fervor, as if they’ve done something to upset her. The jeans go next, shoved down along with her underwear and left in a heap on the floor after she reaches her closet and opens the door, temporarily obstructing her view of the bed. 

The toy is where Yvie always stores it, thoroughly cleaned after the latest use and put on one of the middle shelves for easy grabs. Yvie snatches it and puts the black harness on without delay, doing up the waistband and securing the straps around her thighs, pulling on them just a tad too hard so that the material is digging into her skin painfully whenever she moves. Shortly considering taking her top off and deciding against it, not wanting to show her bare chest, she loosely wraps one of her hands around her cock and grips the side of the closet door with the other, halfway closing it and glancing back over at Scarlet.

The sight she’s met with leaves her feeling like she’s short of oxygen, blood rushing in her ears and pulsing between her legs. She unconsciously squeezes the toy in her fist, her knuckles undoubtedly turning white, as if that will provide her with the sensation she’s aching, throbbing for. Scarlet is propping herself up on her elbows, pinching her lip and staring at Yvie coquettishly, but the glimmer in her eyes isn’t what mesmerizes Yvie to the point of freezing up. Her legs are now spread in the most obvious invitation to fuck her, and she’s removed her panties, her pussy out on display.

As if in a trance, Yvie lets go of the door, moves closer to the bed, her gaze glued to the gorgeous bare cunt being presented to her so shamelessly. It’s the hair that catches Yvie off guard, makes her giddy and unsteady, visibly soft and brown like the locks on her head, framing her perfect, silky pink lips. She’s glistening with wetness, so abundant that it smears over the insides of her thighs, and Yvie can see it dripping slowly towards the comforter, can already imagine the wet spot that will be left after she comes, can picture her pussy convulsing and clenching and leaking around her cock. 

Scarlet’s eyeing Yvie just as hungrily, her pretty mouth opening slightly as she sees the toy and then closing immediately while she licks her lips and tries and fails to suppress a pleased smirk. Yvie reaches her and circles her fingers around one of Scarlet’s ankles, harshly twisting her wrist to screw Scarlet’s thighs farther apart, and Scarlet lets out a sharp hiss and attempts to lift her hips off the bed, like she’s offering herself to Yvie and fully expects to be taken, too. Scarlet’s scent is heavy in the air now, unmistakable, intoxicating, and Yvie swallows thickly, realizes that she’s started jerking her own cock, slowly and languidly as if out of instinct. Unable to bring herself to decline Scarlet’s silent proposal, Yvie releases her ankle, trusting Scarlet to stay spread for her, stretches out the hand that's not busy with her strap to rake her fingers through the curly hair. It’s just as soft under Yvie’s touch as it looks, long enough for Yvie to be able to tug on it should she choose to, and it makes Yvie feel some type of way. She stops at the top of Scarlet’s pussy, rests her palm there and lets her thumb stroke the hair, her own stomach churning in a way she’s not completely accustomed to.

“Daddy…” The word comes out as something between a breath and a whine, Scarlet’s voice weak and wanting as she presses up into Yvie’s touch. 

Yvie bites the inside of her cheek, hard, feeling her own thighs tense in response to the name, the burning in her gut stoked into rush of heat. Letting go of her cock, she rubs her thumb over the shiny inside of Scarlet's thigh before dragging her fingers through her folds slowly and teasingly, collecting wetness on her fingers, her lips parting at the sensation. The corner of her mouth lifts at Scarlet’s jagged breathing, control firmly back in within her grasp now.

"Daddy's gonna get her dick real wet, huh?” Yvie husks, her voice low and gruff, withdrawing her fingers to inspect them almost absentmindedly. Scarlet whimpers, squirming, her reaction to Yvie using the title herself immediate, and Yvie dangles her fingertips over her strap, watching the liquid drip onto the silicone for a moment before wrapping her fist around the head, rubbing Scarlet’s wetness onto the toy like lube. “You gonna take all of me in that pretty pussy, babe?” 

“Please, daddy,” Scarlet breathes out, twisting in place desperately, her gaze focused intently on Yvie’s hand on her cock, as if she might force her hips forward and try to take it before Yvie has decided to give it to her. “Want it _now_.”

Her tone is a mixture of whiny and demanding, as if she’s calling the shots, and Yvie loathes the way her brattiness is just as arousing as it is infuriating. Needing the power back in her hands, Yvie leans in, hooking her fingers into the front of Scarlet’s dress as if to pull her closer, getting right up in her face and watching her expression go slack, her body weakening noticeably in response to Yvie’s sudden, intimidating closeness. Her gaze still fixed on Scarlet’s wide eyes, Yvie tugs downwards, feeling the material stretch and then relax as Scarlet’s tits pop out of the garment, the woman beneath her letting out a choked gasp. 

Pulling away slightly, Yvie lets go of the thin fabric and cups one of Scarlet’s breasts instead. It’s soft, fits perfectly in Yvie’s hand, the flesh almost shapeable, giving under Yvie’s fingers with close to no resistance, and Yvie slides her thumb over the nipple, feels it stiffen instantly, and crooks the digit to press on it with the blunt edge of her nail. Scarlet hisses, pushes her chest out, her back curving off the bed gracefully, and Yvie chuckles, mostly to conceal her surprise at how easily Scarlet yields. She squeezes the breast once more, then winds her wrist back, giving it a sharp slap with her palm and eliciting a gorgeous, strangled cry from Scarlet, barely suppressing her own groan at how perfectly it bounces against Scarlet’s chest. 

“Asked you a question, babe,”she prompts thickly.

Scarlet blinks up at her, eyes glossed over and pupils wide, looking like thinking isn’t something she cares to engage in right now. “Want your cock, daddy, please,” she forces out finally.

It’s not a proper answer, Yvie suspects she doesn’t even recall the initial question, probably doesn’t remember anything past her needy pussy and overbearing lust, but it’s enough to drive Yvie crazy nonetheless and make her stop prolonging this. She plants her fingers on Scarlet’s chest, right below her collarbones, and pushes down. Scarlet instantly flops on the bed, her body reactive like she trusts Yvie, and Yvie feels a familiar surge of protectiveness emerging somewhere between her gut and heart.

She ignores it, grabs Scarlet’s spread thighs instead and tugs her closer to the edge of the bed. Scarlet manages to somehow open her legs even wider, her hand crawling up her own body until she reaches her tits and starts playing with them, and Yvie feels lightheaded. She takes her cock, guides it between Scarlet’s lips, and slowly teases it down her slit before stopping at her entrance. Moving her hips forward just a little, Yvie presses the tip into the pool of wetness with her fist, slowly starting to push into Scarlet, needing her to feel every centimeter, needing to hear her pants and whimpers as every inch stretches her just a little more. The tightness of her makes Yvie curse and groan quietly, and Scarlet makes a desperate noise in reply, forces her hips upwards into the contact, her cunt swallowing most of the toy all at once as she lets out a long, throaty moan. 

There’s a part of Yvie that’s impressed and riled up, a part that makes her own core clench in response to seeing Scarlet take the thickness of the toy so quickly, but it’s drowned out by the wave of freshly renewed annoyance that rushes through her and makes her vision hazy. Growling and pinning Scarlet’s hips to the bed with a hand splayed on her abdomen, Yvie watches her slide off of the toy, leaving it slick and shiny as it bounces free. She pinches the inside of Scarlet’s thigh harshly in retaliation, darkly pleased at her pained whimper, and then guides her cock back to Scarlet’s entrance. After a moment of allowing the woman beneath her to squirm, Yvie pushes back in, far quicker this time, snapping her hips and eliciting a sob from Scarlet as she’s forced to take all of it. 

Yvie freezes once she’s bottomed out and watches how the crease of Scarlet’s brow smoothens out as her expression grows spaced out in bliss. They both stay unmoving for a moment, their labored breathing the only audible sound in the stillness of the room, and then Yvie slips her palm down Scarlet’s abdomen and leaves it resting on her pelvis.

“Fuck, babe,” she drawls huskily, and Scarlet immediately whines in response. “You feel so fucking tight.”

There’s a sharp inhale, eyes squeezing shut, and a lip being crushed between teeth. The reaction is immediate, too uncontrolled to be played up, and it confirms what Yvie was already suspecting. She gets off on this, Scarlet, she gets off on them suspending disbelief, on Yvie acting like she can feel her around the toy, talking to her like her men probably do, and Yvie is willing to give it to her, and not because it’s a turn on for her too, which, it is, but because Scarlet’s responses are too delicious to pass on.

“Your tight little cunt feels so good on my cock,” Yvie continues, purely to entertain herself.

Scarlet lolls her head to the side, breaking the eye contact, as if she suddenly feels too shy and wants to hide her face in the comforter. It’s so overwhelmingly cute, so simple and raw and honest somehow, and it makes Yvie’s skin itch, makes her insides ache a little, and she hates it. She doesn’t quite know how to deal with it, so she does the only thing she can think of — thrusts her hips to fuck into Scarlet.

Scarlet sobs, a shattering little noise, and Yvie is sure she’s going to bury her face in the thick material she’s lying on and not even look at Yvie while Yvie brings her to her orgasm. Instead, Scarlet turns her head in Yvie’s direction, her expression unreadable.

“How’s this, daddy?” she lilts and lets her gaze dart down.

Yvie follows her line of sight, glances down where the base of her cock gets lost in Scarlet’s hair, her pussy stretching around it so prettily. She’s confused for just a split second, unaware of what she’s searching for, but then she suddenly feels the muscles of Scarlet’s lower stomach tense under her palm, sees the toy twitch just a little as if of its own accord, and _fuck_ , Scarlet is clenching her cunt.

“You’re a little cocktease, aren’t you?” Yvie grunts, winding her hips backwards and then rocking them back into Scarlet hard enough to make her breasts jiggle, the other woman wincing out a moan and clearly struggling to focus her eyes on Yvie’s face.

“What if I am?” Scarlet breathes, her mouth hanging open, tongue dragging over her upper lip briefly. “What are you gonna do about it, daddy?”

Yvie’s stomach flips, and she curses quietly, rotates her hips a little to watch Scarlet’s face contort, hear her broken whimpers. She knows that she’s got the better of Scarlet, knows full well that she’s already hers, malleable and needy and desperate to be worked into whatever shape Yvie likes. But somehow, despite all of that, Scarlet is still provoking, still being a demanding little thing despite how clearly her body betrays her at every slight movement Yvie makes, and all of it is so unbearably attractive, so filthy, so bratty, and Yvie can't help but love all of it, can’t resist rising to every taunt.

“Make you beg.” 

Yvie’s pointed words hang heavily, deliberately, in the air, and Scarlet’s eyes widen, a moment passing as she appears to hold her breath, mouth moving like she wants to shoot back a reply. Yvie stares right back at her, raising an eyebrow in challenge, and then Scarlet weakens, her muscles visibly loosening as she lets out a shuddering exhale, her cunt softening and giving more easily under the press of the toy.

“Please?” her voice is barely a rasp now, less demanding than pleading, and she wets her lips, makes an effort to roll her hips as if she’s teasing Yvie’s cock, trying to get her to move, and Yvie wants to ruin her, wants to fuck her pussy open proper, make her feel it for days, use her as long as she likes and then leave her to stumble back home wrecked, unable to walk straight or think about anything but the ache between her thighs.

“What’s that, kitten?” Yvie impels mockingly and lightly nudges her hips, just to keep Scarlet on edge. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please, I, oh, ooh,” Scarlet’s words come out in a rushed, incoherent bundle with no breaks between, and Yvie gets a feeling this isn’t something she’s used to or even really good at. A brat like her probably gets fucked plenty without having to work for it any, and as enraging as the thought is, Yvie’s own growing urgency and earnest aren’t making denying her very easy. “I… Please, daddy?”

“Please what?” Yvie tries again, shifting her hips once more, and watching Scarlet’s chin tilt up and her eyes roll back as she gasps. Realizing she must be tapping at Scarlet's spot just right, she presses Scarlet's hips into the bed to keep her still, teases her with another slight thrust. 

Scarlet moans and arches, her head turning from one side to the other, an incoherent mess of words dripping from her lips as she strains against Yvie’s hand, making it an effort to keep her in place, and Yvie can only catch a garbled _please_ and _need_ and _daddy, daddy, daddy_. It's not the response she was looking for, not what she’d normally settle for from a hook-up who she told to beg, but somehow, when Scarlet is the one rambling and gasping on her cock, it’s more than enough, and Yvie can’t keep herself from moving any longer. 

Digging her fingers into Scarlet’s thighs, Yvie forces them farther apart, pinning them down with a grunt. She jerks her hips backwards, watches the toy slide out of Scarlet so smoothly as Scarlet winces, tries and fails to chase it. Yvie catches her breath for a moment, staring at the gorgeous wreck of a woman beneath her, the perfect spread of her pussy and her legs, her breast spilling out between her own fingers, and then gives up the fight and slides her cock back in with low groan. 

Scarlet’s responding cry is raspy and desperate, and Yvie has to strain to hold her still as she finally starts to fuck her properly. Finding her spot again takes only seconds, and Yvie presses her thumbnails into Scarlet’s soft skin and adjusts her angle to hit it on every pass, biting down on her own lower lip and nearly drawing blood as she struggles to comprehend just how unbelievably sensitive Scarlet is there, how her cock simply brushing past it makes her thrash and twitch and let out broken moans, her free hand making a mess of the comforter beneath her. 

“Oh, oh, daddy,” Scarlet pants, her eyes glazing over, her hips still determinedly pushing forwards as if needing Yvie even deeper. “ _God_ , you’re so big, I —” 

Her teeth gritting, Yvie forces Scarlet to still with a shove of her arms, and slams into her, making her cut herself off with a choked gasp. “Shut up and take it,” she growls, punctuating every word with a thrust, moving faster and faster now, not meaning her order even a little and knowing Scarlet won’t obey regardless. 

Scarlet nibbles on her lip and manages to stay quiet for approximately half a second, and then there’s words again, barely cohesive fragments of pleas interlaced with occasional frantic sobs, her voice turning higher in pitch with every snap of Yvie’s hips. Yvie’s pace is becoming more erratic, as relentless as Scarlet seems to be. She’s soaked, so much so that Yvie can hear every inch pressing in and pulling out, filthy wet noises filling the quiet spaces between Scarlet’s desperate gasps. Yvie thinks there will be a dark, damp spot on the comforter under her when they’re done, thinks the wetness must be collecting in the creases between Scarlet’s ass and thighs, most likely between her cheeks too, thinks how it probably makes her skin itch almost unpleasantly and finally notices how wet she herself is, gets angrier at the realization and fucks Scarlet like she hates her, like she means it.

With another string of pleas and praises, Scarlet lets go of the fabric she’s been ruining in her fist, leading it slightly crumpled in her wake, and allows her palm to dance over one of her thighs, stopping at her crotch for just a short moment and then pushing her fingers between her lips. Yvie feels herself go a little numb as she witnesses Scarlet aim directly for her clit, so visibly swollen and pink and perfect, undoubtedly sensitive and pulsing, aching to be touched just like Yvie’s own is. Scarlet slides her fingertips over the spot with a satisfied moan, her chin tilting up again and her eyes falling shut, and then she utters a breathy _Oh, my God, daddy, right there_ and Yvie remembers how to use her muscles.

She pairs the slap she places on Scarlet’s wrist with another thrust of her cock, and Scarlet produces a wounded sound, immediately withdrawing her hand and pulling it close to her chest, her other hand moving to rub the stinging skin. She pouts up at Yvie, like she disagrees with such interruption, and Yvie can’t hold back a scowl.

“You said you wanted my cock, you’re gonna have to come on my cock,” she grunts. “Desperate little things will take what’s given and not an ounce more.”

Without awaiting Scarlets reaction — not that there would have been an intelligent one, concluding by her unravelled state — Yvie hooks her arm under Scarlet’s knee and lifts it closer to herself for a deeper angle. With the first roll of Yvie’s hips in the new position, Scarlet practically squeals, head thrown back as she rocks against the toy, pathetic and unrhythmic, her hair strewn across the cover, undoubtedly a mess of tangles that Yvie wants to drag her fingers through and tug as hard as she can. She imagines Scarlet on her stomach, ass raised to take her cock, back curved as Yvie pulls on a tight handful of those coarse locks, and swears she can feel the sticky arousal dripping down her own thighs. 

Scarlet isn't managing words any longer, just dry sobs and moans, slipping on and off of the strap so easily. There’s hardly any resistance left, just the sounds of her groans and her wet cunt, taking all of it so well, as if she’s made just to be filled by Yvie’s cock, wincing and squirming with the emptiness on every backstroke. 

With a soft grunt and strength Yvie didn't know she had left, Scarlet lifts the leg that's not trapped in Yvie’s grip, and hooks it around Yvie’s waist. Her calf flexes against Yvie's lower back, drawing Yvie nearer still as if desperate to get her as deep as possible inside and keep her there. Yvie wants to slap her thigh, push it away, but then Scarlet lets out a needy whine, and she's looking at Yvie with that pout, lips so much more swollen than before, her glossy eyes are so wide and trusting, and Yvie presses closer and starts to thrust more shallowly instead, too enraptured and too far gone to make herself deny Scarlet anything. 

They’re entwined so thoroughly like this, the proximity of their bodies making it ridiculously easy to tell when Scarlet’s muscles tense in a brand new way, like she’s chasing something and needs to release, melt into a puddle right beneath Yvie. It’s impressive, how undone Scarlet has come with just Yvie’s cock against her spot, no other stimulation, and the thought is nagging at Yvie, making her question what a girl like Scarlet could possibly be after that men can’t give her all the same, but then Scarlet cards her free hand through her own hair and pulls a little, eliciting a raspy groan from herself, and Yvie forgets everything else.

“Daddy, gonna—”she cries out and tries to raise herself off the bed even more.

Yvie forces her lower by her hipbone, and then, almost absentmindedly, fits the same hand between them and places her thumb against Scarlet’s clit. Scarlet immediately whines and jerks like the impact is too much, like she won’t be able to handle it, the muscles in her thighs spasming so hard Yvie can feel it against herself.

“C’mon, babe,” she finds herself commanding. “Come for me.”

She presses harder against Scarlet’s clit, feels it twitch under her thumb, and then the response is like a chain reaction as Scarlet lets go, piece by piece of her body rapidly falling prey to the force of her climax. The jerk of her chin, her fingers pinching too hard at her nipple, the gorgeous broken moan on her lips, the clench of her cunt around Yvie's cock, so tight and perfect it’s difficult to keep moving and fuck her through it, and Yvie can feel the burn in her own abs as she draws out Scarlet’s pleasure as long as she possibly can, still firmly set on making this the best fuck of Scarlet’s life.

It feels like ages pass before Scarlet's body relaxes, and she begins to wince a little in response to Yvie’s slow thrusts, seeming too sensitive inside now, the convulsing of her pussy with every nudge against her spot too much to handle, becoming more intense and painful than it is pleasurable. Yvie rubs her thighs, and unhooks her leg from around her, holding her hips firmly as she slowly pulls out. Scarlet catches her breath, hand moving down to drift over her core almost wonderingly, the way one might touch her lips after being kissed, as if trying to confirm it was real, as if she'll find some imprint on her soft skin as evidence. Her legs fall open on the bed, and Yvie isn’t sure if she's protecting herself from the ache of having them pressed together or showing off the mess Yvie’s made of her, her folds spread, wetness smeared all over, caught in the curly hair, leaking out of her still and dripping slowly down. 

Another few long moments go by before Scarlet starts to shift, prompting Yvie to finally tear her gaze away from her pussy and notice the rest of her, nipples still stiff from how she’s been pinching them, eyes still struggling to focus as she looks Yvie up and down. She pushes herself up on her elbows, shaking out her hair and taking a deep breath, and then starts to move towards Yvie, scooting her hips off the bed and then wriggling onto the floor, forcing Yvie to take a small step backwards in surprise to accommodate her. She lands in a messy heap on the carpet, taking longer than should be necessary to position herself on her knees, her limbs clearly shaky, and oh, of course she’s one of those girls, Yvie realizes, one of the sort to clean herself off of Yvie's cock after coming on it, the kind of woman who wants to keep the fantasy even longer, make believe that she can take care of Yvie in return like this.

There’s a moment of complete stillness, and Yvie contemplates sinking her hand in Scarlet’s knotted locks, grabbing a fistful and holding her in place while she fucks her face, deep and thorough thrusts until Scarlet is drooling around the toy, making a mess similar to the one between her legs. It won’t really bring Yvie any relief, won’t ease the aching want in her gut andlower, but it’ll be something to think about when she’s pressing her own slender fingers inside herself later, parting them and enjoying the way it burns so right, just another bunch of visuals she can turn into fuel for her imagination.

Before she can do it or even decide on it, before she can surge her hips forth and coax Scarlet’s mouth open with the tip of her cock, Scarlet leans in slightly, her thumb and index finger closing around the base of the toy delicately. Yvie gets stuck instantly, studies, as if hypnotized, how Scarlet presses very close to the harness, snuggles her nose into Yvie’s crotch, breathes in like she’s trying to smell Yvie’s arousal, like she’s savoring the scent. It’s enticing to look at, so fucking hot and enchanting and unfair, and Yvie couldn’t tear her gaze away even if she tried. Scarlet whimpers quietly, sounds almost needing, almost genuine, and then her tongue is suddenly dragging along the underside of Yvie’s cock, collecting and tasting her own slick, and Yvie’s whole frontal lobe short circuits. Scarlet reaches the head of the toy, licks her lips as if making sure she didn’t miss a drop, and wraps her pretty little mouth around the crown immediately after.

Hazily expecting her to take more of it, Yvie pushes her hips forward, a weak movement without precision or vigor, but instead there’s a subtle click of the buckle, and the next thing Yvie knows is her harness sliding down her legs. Yvie freezes, her eyes widening, and feels her stomach drop as Scarlet whimpers and buries her face in Yvie’s thigh all at once, tongue lapping at the inside, so close to where she’s dripping, as if she’s searching for the flavor. The sensation is so unfamiliar, so right, and as Scarlet pulls back again, looking up at her with her chest heaving, Yvie feels as if the ground is vanishing from under her.

“All for me, daddy?” Scarlet breathes the words more than speaking them, her pupils so dilated Yvie is dizzy with it. 

She reaches for Yvie’s thighs, prying them apart gently but persistently, and Yvie lets her, stepping out of the harness helplessly, captivated by the look on Scarlet’s face and the way she’s touching her, and it’s as if control of Yvie’s body isn’t in her own hands any longer.

“Oh,” Scarlet sighs, and her fingers dig into Yvie’s skin, and Yvie realizes with a jolt that the acrylic nails she’d noticed earlier are nowhere to be found, scrambles to think what could’ve happened to them and finds that she hasn’t the brain power. Scarlet looks up at her, eyes pleading. “Oh, I want to… can I…” 

Unsure how she’s managing to stay on her feet despite her shock, Yvie nods wordlessly, unable to fully wrap her head around what’s about to happen but so very desperate for it that she can feel her own cunt throbbing. 

Her hands remaining in place, Scarlet leans in slowly, almost like she’s stalking her prey before going in for the kill, leaving Yvie the deer in the headlights, standing stock still and trembling in her grasp. Scarlet wets her lips, and then her nose is running over the trimmed hair, breathing Yvie in again. The first touch of her tongue is electric, the warm tip pressed right against the hood of Yvie’s clit, and the shudder that runs through Yvie’s body is too much, too uncontrollable, the whole situation entirely out of her comfort zone, and she almost grabs Scarlet’s hair to pull her away, but the contact is gone before she can. Yvie gasps in air, unsure whether she’s relieved or upset, shaken at how overwhelmed she is by the barest contact, needing more and hating that she needs anything at all. 

Scarlet seems unfazed by Yvie’s responses, encouraged, in fact, her hands moving inwards to spread Yvie’s lips with her thumbs, and then her tongue is tracing across them languidly, a filthy moan vibrating against the flesh, and Yvie’s mind goes blank again, a whimper leaving her before she can stop it. 

Scarlet places another long lick along the length of Yvie’s pussy, the tip of her tongue flicking teasingly against the clit when she reaches it and her lips pressing a kiss above it right after, and Yvie feels her own shoulders droop, almost says something, but before the sentence is even fully formulated, Scarlet leans away, craning her neck to gaze at Yvie and resting her head against the side of the bed. Yvie’s stomach drops in disappointment, her first thought being that Scarlet just wanted to try it out, perhaps to have a story to tell, or maybe to see if she likes it and shortly deciding she didn’t. Yvie hates the way the feeling dwells, but it’s nothing compared to the wave of nausea that follows suit immediately. _She didn’t like it_ , realized it’s not worth it, that Yvie is too much work and not enough return, not something she should or would or needs to put any effort in.

Scarlet keeps staring at her, almost perfectly still, and Yvie wants to cover her own mouth with her palm, wants to look away, but can’t bring herself to, too frozen and sick to move at all. She loathes their position, loathes how bare and mortified she feels, rendered defenseless and caught in a vulnerable position just because she let herself be blindsided after avoiding it so successfully for ages. 

“God, you taste _so_ good,” Scarlet breathes finally, tongue working its way across her upper lip, and it’s like all of the air rushes back into Yvie's lungs at once in a soft gasp as the whole earth seems to shift below her, assumptions and insecurities starting to crumble, her mouth falling open as she suddenly identifies the slack expression on Scarlet's face as heart-stopping, overwhelming arousal. “Daddy…”

The title hangs in the air, exhaled carefully and helplessly, almost like a prayer, by the woman on her knees before her. Scarlet’s head lifts from the bed, and her fingers wander over Yvie’s thighs, lips moving soundlessly as if murmuring devotions as her gaze dances over Yvie’s still body, and when she finally speaks again, the need in her tone makes Yvie dissolve, as if she's sugar on Scarlet’s tongue. 

“Want you, want to…” 

Her eyes are hazy and heavy lidded and slow to move, her touch is earnest and careful, and her voice is barely there, raw and raspy, forcing out the words as if they’re the truest thing she’s ever spoken, and Yvie can’t help but believe her. She blinks, hard, nausea replaced with tingling warmth that twists in her gut and slowly starts to spread outwards, filling her whole frame with the dizzying, sunlit sensation of being _wanted_.

Defenses weakening for the first time in as long as she can remember, Yvie tries to catch her breath, inhale and exhale through the heat under her skin. She reaches out her hand almost tentatively, carding her fingers through Scarlet’s messy hair, and feels the other woman nudge against her, just leaning into her hand for a moment and then tilting her head so she’s looking up at Yvie, the plain, honest desire on her face making Yvie’s stomach swoop. 

“Please fuck my face, daddy?” Scarlet says, eyes fixed on Yvie's as she nuzzles into her hand. Her tone almost sweet, as if she hasn’t just said something unbearably filthy, and Yvie tenses, feels herself leak, knows her pussy will likely drip on the carpet any moment. 

She grunts, mostly to hide the way Scarlet has left her speechless, a rare occasion where her silence isn’t conscious rather than collateral. Fist tangling in the coarse hair, she tugs sharply, and then twists her wrist to guide Scarlet’s head closer. The triumphant little sound Scarlet lets out prickles Yvie’s skin, crawls up her spine and tingles the nape of her neck, and she allows herself to suspend her disbelief just like Scarlet had done earlier.

“Filthy,” she spits out the first thing that comes to mind, pushing her hips up and dangling her pussy just an inch or so above Scarlet’s face, her hand forcing Scarlet’s head back slightly.

“That’s right, daddy,” Scarlet purrs, pleased, satisfied, like she couldn’t be prouder of the fact Yvie noticed, and the sensation of her hot breath against Yvie’s folds makes Yvie’s stomach drop and lock up.

“Gonna show me how filthy you are, aren’t you, baby?” Yvie mutters through gritted teeth.

Scarlet nods eagerly, her movement restricted by Yvie’s grip. It’s followed by a confirming noise as if she’s impatient to let Yvie know how much she desires this, and she struggles to close the distance, bury her face in Yvie’s cunt, but Yvie’s hold stays iron. All of it makes Yvie inhale a little easier, makes her feel like she’s still in the driver’s seat, pulling the strings, collected and composed and not at all vulnerable, and they’re both probably well aware that in reality she’s putty in Scarlet’s hands, but Scarlet is willing to pretend, and that’s enough for now.

Yvie’s still for a few beats, torturing herself with the way her stomach keeps tightening and her heart keeps skipping in anticipation, and then, when it gets a little bit too much, she ruts down against Scarlet’s parted lips. 

This time, when Scarlet’s tongue connects with her cunt, she shudders even harder, groaning and wrapping her fist tightly in Scarlet’s hair. She grinds against the contact instinctively, rubbing her clit against the soft warmth, swearing she can feel the shockwaves from the touch all over her body, and Scarlet responds with a needy whimper, her mouth opening wider and her tongue pressing hard right where Yvie wants it. Her blunt nails dig into Yvie’s tensed thighs as Yvie holds her still to rock against her, as if it's getting hard to breathe, but she only presses closer, and Yvie can feel herself clench and leak in response, Scarlet’s tongue quickly and messily lapping up the wetness.

Needing more, requiring Scarlet even closer, Yvie bends her knee and props it on the bed, spreading her cunt open wider and providing Scarlet with better access. The way Scarlet laps over her clit with the new angle makes her groan so loudly she shocks herself, and when the tip of the other woman’s tongue starts pressing slowly into her opening, Yvie can’t help but force her hips forwards, crushing Scarlet’s head back against the bed and trapping her own hand in the process. Scarlet’s muffled, ecstatic moan sends a thrill down Yvie's spine, and then her tongue slips inside, licking eagerly as if desperate for the taste. The dirtiness and enthusiasm of her movements makes Yvie’s head spin so badly she nearly blanks out, managing in a moment of coherence to be glad she has the bed for support.

Scarlet eats pussy like she can’t get enough of it, and for a moment, something about her motions and ardency makes Yvie feel like she’s worth it. Scarlet pushes her tongue into Yvie as much as she possibly can, licks inside like she’s thirsty for it, and then withdraws a little and twirls the tip around Yvie’s entrance as if she’s trying to open Yvie up. Yvie mutters a string of profanities, her fingers instinctively flexing in Scarlet’s hair, nails scratching the scalp, and as she frantically nudges forth, Scarlet closes her mouth and rubs her puckered lips against her slit. It’s not even a little bit enough after all the sensation, and Yvie growls, yanks and twists on the locks in her fist, the heat building in her gut when the gesture has no effect, Scarlet’s pout remaining pressed against her folds.

“ _Fuck,_ ” she curses. “Open — open your mouth, or I’ll fucking do it for you.” 

The responding whimper from Scarlet is gorgeous and pathetic, her lips parting in accordance with the command as if she’s helpless to do otherwise. Her fingernails scraping against the back of Yvie’s thighs desperately, she manages to place a filthy lick over Yvie’s entrance before Yvie shifts, getting the contact where she craves it. She can practically feel herself throbbing as she grinds against Scarlet’s tongue, the stimulation so intense, so aching, so good that her eyes start watering. 

Scarlet’s a dream, and at the same time, so much better than what Yvie’s imagination is capable of creating, eagerly figuring out Yvie’s tempo and adjusting to it, meeting Yvie halfway, participating rather than just submitting to being used to get off on. As soon as Yvie loses her rhythm, slows down a bit, Scarlet picks up, her mouth dragging over Yvie’s pussy, her teeth grazing the flesh lightly in a manner that makes Yvie gasp and gives her chills, and then, when the rocking of Yvie’s hips becomes completely intermittent, Scarlet closes her lips around the clit and sucks.

There’s a swift flick of Scarlet’s tongue over her clit, and Yvie feels like a live wire, heated as if there’s a current running under her skin, sparks swimming behind her eyes, whole body ready to catch fire at any moment. Scarlet whimpers weakly, and then she’s humming, lips vibrating against Yvie’s cunt, and it's so much and so intense that Yvie feels her bones melt, a wild cry leaving her lips as her pussy pulses and twitches, her orgasm taking over her body and making her vision go dark for a moment. She’s aware of her hips rocking against Scarlet’s face, of the wetness slippery between them, of her own teeth sinking so hard into her lip it hurts, and there’s heat spreading all through her, radiating all the way to her fingertips, hot enough to burn through something.

It rages for a while, the wildfire inside her, drowning everything in the smoke except Scarlet, solid and sound in front of her, and the rush of adrenaline and ecstasy in every tiny blood vessel of her body. Yvie feels delirious on it, like there’s not enough oxygen in her lungs, like the atmosphere is too cloudy for her to breathe in properly. It isn’t until Yvie manages a greedy intake of air that the flames start dying out, sizzling as they retract inwards and settle somewhere between her hips, leaving her skin a sticky, sweaty mess in their wake.

Finally regaining traces of control over her own muscles, Yvie stops jerking against Scarlet. Her knee sliding off the bed, she stumbles backwards, legs shaky, breathing still ragged, and vision blurry around the edges. Scarlet doesn’t let go of her thighs until Yvie steps out of reach, like she’s set on keeping her close but can’t muster the energy to go through with it, and when Yvie slips through her fingers, she tiredly drops her hands in her lap. She shrinks a little, like she was upholding her posture only because Yvie was trapping her, keeping her spine straightened, and her head falls back against the side of the bed.

Scarlet’s a wreck, her hair visibly tangled where Yvie’s beengripping it, her lids even heavier, her lips puffy and glistening with Yvie’s wetness, smeared all across her chin, too, and she’s so fucking gorgeous it stings just a little, a sharp stab somewhere between Yvie’s ribs. She’s gulping in air, her still exposed tits heaving, and she’s staring at Yvie all dazed, like taking Yvie apart ruined her more than anything else tonight, and then suddenly her hand shoots up, one finger swiping over her slick lower lip and slipping into her mouth.

Yvie stares at her, an aftershock clenching her pussy as Scarlet sucks lazily. Her legs feel so unsteady she thinks she might collapse, and her brain is sluggish, processing information slowly, consumed with the warm tingling in her gut and between her thighs and distracted by the sex goddess in front of her, trying to puzzle out where her assumptions about Scarlet had gone so wrong. Scarlet pops her finger out of her mouth and inspects it with dark eyes, and Yvie manages to hold onto a thought long enough to try to articulate it.

“You — nails,” she manages, pointing at Scarlet weakly. 

“Huh?” Scarlet gazes up at her open-mouthed, pink tongue dragging over her lips. She makes a movement like she wants to stand, hand tugging Yvie’s covers halfway off the bed and her legs tensing, and then pouts, apparently not having the strength to do it herself.

“You had nails, before,” Yvie says, her voice hoarse but more sure now. Instinctively moving forwards on wobbly legs as she sees Scarlet struggle, she offers her hands, pulling the smaller woman to her feet with more effort than should be required, her muscles feeling like they’re made of chewing gum. 

“Oh.” Scarlet nods slowly, maintaining her grip on Yvie’s hands, her bare chest bumping against Yvie’s clothed one as they come nearly face to face. “They were — they were press-ons,” she says in a murmur, blinking earnestly. “I um, I took them off in the car. Wasn’t gonna keep ‘em on when I was going home with a woman as hot as you.” 

“You’re not straight,” Yvie exhales, unsure if she’s asking or just stating, almost awed, squeezing Scarlet’s hands tighter as the realization washes over her again. 

“What?” Scarlet stares at her, seeming utterly baffled, like she doesn’t even understand the question.

“You like women.” 

“Of course?” Scarlet says, her brow furrowing. “I’m a lesbian.” 

Yvie feels her throat tighten, as if she might choke or gasp or start crying. Scarlet looks so confused, her pretty mouth slightly open and still glossy from Yvie’s wetness, and Yvie is surging forwards to crush their lips together before she can help herself, the kiss a clumsy bumping of mouths for a moment before Scarlet catches up and reciprocates, lets Yvie taste herself on her tongue, the flavor so entirely different than the sticky lipstick she’s grown accustomed to that it makes her heart skip a beat. 

The kiss isn’t long, Yvie breaking off to gasp in air, her hands curled around Scarlet’s gently. The woman in front of her looks even more dumbstruck now, chasing Yvie’s lips instinctively as she pulls away, her body leaning in closer as if magnetically drawn towards her, and she’s still so unbelievably responsive to every move and touch that it takes Yvie’s breath away. 

“What was that for?” she mumbles, tilting her chin up to peck Yvie’s bottom lip. 

“Nothing,” Yvie dismisses, ignoring how the gentle contact makes her dizzy, trying and failing to make her voice emotionless and disinterested. 

She lets go of Scarlet’s hands all at once, and turns to grab the strap-on from the floor, hesitant once again to show any of her emotions or vulnerability as she steadily comes back to her senses. Scarlet hums softly behind her, seeming unconcerned, and Yvie sets the toy aside to be cleaned later, turns around to find Scarlet with her thumbs hooked into the top of her dress, pushing it down over her hips and leaving her entirely naked.

Yvie’s first reaction is dumb staring, her gaze drifting over Scarlet’s soft breasts, her slender waist and her tummy, the smooth curve of her hips and the brown curls between her thighs. Her second is confusion, wondering why Scarlet would undress after sex, if she's planning on staying the night, why she'd plan on that without bothering to ask. Yvie opens her mouth, ready to object, and then closes it again, realizing after a moment that even though the women she brings home never stick around, Scarlet is different, and she doesn’t particularly have an objection, can’t actually believe that for once she won’t be abruptly left behind.

“So,” Scarlet says, drawing out the word, her tone teasing and playful again as she leans back against the bed and tugs on a lock of her hair, every bit the brat Yvie’s known she is since the beginning. “Where's the weed, daddy?”

Her stomach dropping at Scarlet’s attitude, Yvie swallows hard, pussy suddenly interested again, her fingers practically itching to grab for Scarlet. Ignoring the impulse and arousal, she quirks an eyebrow, watches Scarlet’s responding pout, the bossy tilt of her head. The other woman’s arms cross under her tits, squishing them together, and the sight makes Yvie’s brain go blank for a moment. 

“Right,” she grunts through her teeth, set on restoring her front. “That’s what you’re here for.”

“And the dick,” Scarlet says solemnly.

Rolling her eyes, Yvie mostly fails to suppress a chuckle, her composure already cracking again. Scarlet beams at her, her expression a combination of pleased and hopeful, like eliciting the reaction out of Yvie is the greatest thing she’s ever accomplished. Yvie sucks on her lower lip, fighting the twitch of the corners of her mouth before it spills into a full smile and shoulders past Scarlet to pull the comforter and the covers off the bed.

She gestures for Scarlet to climb in, and belatedly realizes she’s offering her side of the bed, but that stops mattering as soon as she sees Scarlet crawling across the sheets, round, perfect ass flawlessly in the air, the fair flesh oh so tempting. Scarlet flops onto the mattress face first, humming contently and going from a seductress to an adorable little thing in a split second, and Yvie’s rib cage suddenly feels oddly restricted. Shaking her head as if to get rid of the sensation, Yvie follows, readjusting the pillows so they can serve as a backrest. Beside her, Scarlet shuffles and turns, sitting up against the headboard and making a show of getting comfortable just like she had done in the Uber. Yvie lets her fidget in peace and leans over her to reach for her smoking materials, conveniently stored in her bedside drawer.

“Your fingers are so long,” Scarlet observes. “You should finger me next time.”

Yvie stills mid loading the grinder, the little baggie of weed still unsealed in her lap, and snaps around in Scarlet’s direction. The other is clearly examining Yvie’s hands, face thoughtful and the corner of her lip crushed between her teeth.

“I should…what? Wait, next time?”

“D’you finger yourself?” The question is so unexpected, so unabashed, that Yvie’s body locks up again. “You’d moan so pretty with those inside you.” 

“Um,” Yvie says, stupefied, and, without looking what she’s doing, grabs another pinch of weed from the baggie and deposits it in the grinder, rubbing her fingertips together to brush the remnants off. “I — yes.” 

“Oh, so you do moan pretty?” Scarlet prods her coyly, a little smile on her lips. “You sure did with my tongue in you, daddy.”

“Not half as much as you with my cock in you,” Yvie shoots back, unsure whether she's teasing or defending. “You’re a screamer,” she adds, and Scarlet's mouth opens in affront.

“Well, if you had the daddy of your dreams dicking you down after feeling you up outside a shitty bar, you'd be screaming too,” Scarlet returns, wiggling her head sassily. 

“Sure, babe,” Yvie chuckles and screws the lid closed, immediately starting to grind the weed, the familiar clicking filling the room.

“Mean,” Scarlet huffs, narrowing her eyes, her pout pronounced and playful. 

Looking at Scarlet, Yvie sticks out her tongue in response, mocking her right back. Scarlet’s eyes widen comically, all the traces of flirting disappearing as she freezes, her mouth slightly agape.

“Oh — okay, maybe not fingering next time,” she breathes. 

Realizing that Scarlet’s reaction is fluster over seeing her tongue, Yvie quickly presses her lips together, feeling a little unhinged herself. Glancing away, she rotates the grinder a couple more times and then deems the job done well enough to begin rolling. Retrieving a paper and a filter, she starts evenly distributing the weed, moving with a tiny bit more precision and caution than necessary to avoid looking at Scarlet as long as she possibly can. 

Scarlet’s words feel as if they're etched into her brain, and Yvie can't help the downwards spiral of her thoughts, the way her mouth waters and her gut twists at the idea of getting between Scarlet's thighs. It's been so very long since she tasted a woman, so long since she’s let herself indulge in something so up close and personal, never wanting to risk the embarrassment of doing something unwanted and unrequested, always worried the intimacy of the act that she loved so much would make it even more of a slap in the face when the women inevitably left her hanging. 

Pinching both ends of the paper between her thumbs and index fingers, Yvie tucks one side over the weed and rotates the filter in a single swift motion. As she brings the blunt up to lick the paper, she hears Scarlet gasp and then honest to God _whimper_ next to her, and her mind is made before she’s even finished rolling.

Tossing the materials aside, Yvie grabs the glass ashtray she keeps on her nightstand along with a cheap plastic lighter and sets it on the bed close to Scarlet. She taps the filter against the back of her hand impulsively before placing the joint between her lips and lighting up. There’s a sound of burning paper and then Yvie tastes the weed, inhales on reflex, and holds the smoke in for a moment. She looks back at Scarlet only when she lets it out, and finds the woman pressing her thighs together tightly, nibbling on her lower lip, her darkening gaze fixed on Yvie’s mouth. 

Yvie hands her the blunt, clearing her throat to get her attention and prompt her to move. With a little _oh_ , Scarlet takes it, immediately bringing it to her mouth without shifting her eyes from Yvie's face, and taking a slow drag. Yvie watches her cheeks hollow and grits her teeth against her arousal, feeling her pussy twitch as she remembers Scarlet sucking on her clit.While Yvie is busy staring, Scarlet offers the blunt back, but instead of taking it, Yvie just shakes her head.

“Aren’t you gonna smoke with me, daddy?” Scarlet purrs after she exhales the cloud of smoke, her voice noticeably thicker now. “Deemed you someone who likes getting high after sex.”

Yvie suppresses a shiver and moves closer to her, utterly entranced by the sight of Scarlet smoking her weed naked in her bed, briefly tempted by the possibility of shotgunning before she dismisses the idea for another time. Laying the tip of her index finger on the bruise she'd left on Scarlet's throat, Yvie drags it across her chest slowly and lightly, swirling around her nipple before rubbing it to elicit a whimper and moving farther down, over her tummy and finally to the inside of her hip, the rest of her fingers joining the first to slide softly over Scarlet’s curls and between her thighs that open for her so easily, cupping her pussy gently. 

“No, baby,” she says lowly, immensely satisfied by the wide-eyed expression on Scarlet's face and the way she nudges into Yvie’s touch. “I’m gonna eat you out.”

“Fuck,” Scarlet chokes out, her legs immediately moving farther apart. “Please.”

Wasting no time, Yvie maneuvers herself on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, snaking her arms around her thighs. Scarlet’s cunt is shining with wetness, her scent strong and prominent again, and Yvie revels at how easy it seems to wind her up into this state. She pulls Scarlet a little closer, a tiny yelp escaping the other woman as she slides on the sheets, but she quickly catches up and settles against the pillows, pushing her hips up for a better angle, her heels digging into the mattress either side of Yvie.

Yvie turns her eyes up, studying the dreamy expression on Scarlet’s face. The blunt she’s holding close to her mouth has gone out, and Yvie thinks she’s starting to recognize the tendency to forget the stuff she’s smoking whenever something mildly more interesting emerges, and it should be infuriating or annoying at best, but for a reason unbeknownst to Yvie, she finds herself endeared instead.

“Want you to smoke while I do this, babe,” she says and it comes out far too tender to be considered a command.

“Okay,” Scarlet says anyway, a perfect picture of obedience. “Okay, daddy.”

She puts the blunt back between her lips and blindly pats around the sheets until she locates the lighter Yvie left next to her. With trembling fingers, she attempts to spark up again, the process taking more than a few tries before she manages to get a proper flame and suck in another cloud of smoke. Scarlet exhales unsteadily, her heavy-lidded eyes blinking at Yvie, rotates her hips just a little as if in invitation. Yvie drops her gaze back down, enjoying the view before her, taking in the gorgeous contrast between Scarlets pink, still swollen pussy and the brown of her damp, unruly hair, considers, for just a second, how she wishes she could capture the colors in an abstract painting, but then Scarlet’s clit spasms visibly as she clenches around nothing, and Yvie’s mind goes foggy.

She presses in closer so her nose is tickled with the hair just above the cleft of Scarlet’s pussy, breathes her in open-mouthed, dragging her lips oh-so-gently over Scarlet’s folds. She laps her tongue tentatively, blindly along Scarlet’s slit, and groans quietly, the taste so strong and distinct, the warmth driving her crazy, her head already swimming even though she’s just barely begun. Scarlet’s mewl is weak and needy and perfect, the light, lingering touch making her hips cant forwards, and this time, Yvie doesn’t make much of an attempt to stop it, doesn’t force Scarlet’s stillness, instead dipping her tongue deeper to flick against her entrance and savoring the feeling of having a woman so responsive, so alive, so wanting under her mouth. 

One of her arms slipping farther around Scarlet’s thigh, Yvie strokes her nails through the hair, then spreads Scarlet’s soft folds with her thumb and pointer finger. She teases her tongue up to tap at Scarlet’s clit, coaxing another whine out of the woman beneath her, and then drops back down to get another taste of her wetness. 

Scarlet’s leaking so profoundly, and combined with how Yvie herself is salivating, she knows they’re making a mess, can feel it coating her lips, trickling downwards, so untidy and filthy, foreign and intimate in the way Yvie has longed for so bad she’s succeeded to convince herself she’s never needed it anyway. Yvie licks over Scarlet’s entrance to lap up the slick, not wanting to let any go to waste before she twirls her tongue around the opening and starts edging the tip in.

Above, Scarlet moans around the filter, her hips jerking into the contact slightly, and Yvie glances up just in time to witness how she closes her eyes and throws her head back in pleasure, gradually blows out a cloud, the smoke playing at her lips in intricate swirls prior to tracing higher and dissipating. The way this position exposes her neck is exquisite, the blooming mark clearly noticeable, her strong jawline defined, and Yvie feels a little overwhelmed, wishes she could capture this, and, using the only outlet she has right now, works her tongue deeper into Scarlet’s cunt. Scarlet cries quietly, head falling farther back against the headboard, breathing growing heavier, the rise and fall of her tits driving Yvie mad, and as she bites on her lower lip and chokes out something incomprehensible, the blunt goes out once more.

Yvie pulls away and cranes her neck to gently plant her chin on Scarlet’s pelvis right above her pussy instead, still looking up at her in fascination. “C’mon, Scarlet,” she murmurs when there’s no reaction from the other.

Scarlet jolts like she’s only now coming to, previously too lost in her hazy desire to pay attention to her surroundings. Meeting Yvie’s eyes, she blinks stupidly like she’s trying to get rid of blurriness and focus her dilated pupils, and suddenly there’s a tiny, wondering smile on her lips.

“Say that again,” she whispers in a rasp.

“Hmm?” Yvie hums, absentmindedly trailing her fingers on Scarlet’s inner thigh.

“My name. Say it again, please.”

“Oh,” Yvie breathes out. “Scarlet.”

The name is titanium on Yvie’s tongue, full of weight, interlacing with Scarlet’s taste until Yvie can’t tell them apart, and Scarlet’s corresponding beam pulls at Yvie’s heartstrings in a way she isn’t sure she can justify just yet, not this soon. 

“C’mon, Scarlet,” Yvie repeats thickly, swallowing in an attempt to clear the dizzying weight of the emotions in her head. “C’mon, baby, try again,” she coaxes. “I want you smoking for me, remember?”

Whimpering, Scarlet squirms, stares down at Yvie pleadingly. Yvie whispers her name one more time, sweetly, and watches as Scarlet weakens and moves to do as she says, fumbling for the lighter again and struggling to make it work. Unable to resist the small smile that nestles into the corner of her own mouth, Yvie lifts her head, hides it with a gentle kiss pressed to the place where her chin had been. She glances up just as Scarlet manages to raise the flame to the end of the blunt, and then presses her lips to the edge of Scarlet’s hair, near the fold of her hip, lingering there as the warmth of her skin sinks into Yvie’s like the first touch of sun in the early springtime.

“There you go,” Yvie hums easily, feeling Scarlet breathe in more than seeing it, hearing her whine on her exhale.

She moves back down again slowly, her gaze on Scarlet’s features, the need in her eyes, the softness of her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she takes another hit immediately after the first as if desperate to do as she’s told, keep it lit this time. When she’s faced with Scarlet’s core again, Yvie feels like all the air has been knocked out of her, Scarlet seemingly twice as wet as before, folds slippery with it, juices dripping onto the sheet below her and pooling at the source. 

Shaking herself out of her staring after a moment, Yvie swipes her tongue over the length of her, collecting the slick and groaning helplessly at the taste and the rise of Scarlet’s hips in response. Not wasting any time, she circles her arms farther around Scarlet’s thighs, slips her hands down to pry her folds apart with her thumbs, and thrusts her tongue inside of Scarlet once more. The heady flavor makes her gut twist, the clench of Scarlet’s channel so unbelievably tight and needy, and Yvie can’t believe she’s kept herself from this for so long. She pushes deeper, eliciting a moan, and realizes that now that she’s had Scarlet on her tongue, she can’t imagine how she’ll be able to do this with anyone else, or go back to not doing it at all.

As if she’s unable to keep still, Scarlet slides down on the sheets, her back arching and her free hand clutching one of the headboard bars, nails clawing at the wood like she’s trying to ground herself. She drops the half-finished blunt in the ashtray, and then her fingers are pressing into the back of Yvie’s neck, not necessarily to pull her in, just to keep her close as her hips repeatedly push up and she grinds her pussy against Yvie’s mouth. She’s probably taking it too far, crossing some sort of line Yvie knows she should and _does_ have, but there’s strings of _please_ and _more_ and _oh, God, ohgodohgodohgod_ tumbling off Scarlet’s lips, and Yvie is drawn in head over heels, wants to indulge her so bad it hurts.

With the new tilt of Scarlet’s hips, it’s even easier to fuck into her, even easier to raise the pitch of her voice and make her breathe in gasps and pants, but its not enough, somehow, and Yvie needs to have her absolutely overwhelmed, no coherency left in the words spilling from her lips. Laying the pad of her thumb against Scarlet’s clit, Yvie starts to rub slow circles, and the reaction is instantaneous. Scarlet cries out, jerking uselessly as if it’s too much when she’s still so sensitive, but Yvie only presses harder, more insistent with her movements now, and it’s only moments before Scarlet surrenders with a sob, her thighs opening wider as if she’s inviting Yvie to have her way with her, and Yvie lets herself get lost in all of it, in the taste and the sensations and the sounds, in Scarlet’s willingness and complete trust in her. 

There’s a prominent trembling of Scarlet’s muscles under Yvie’s touch, uncontrollable and steadily increasing, and Yvie can conclude she’s close to coming undone. She almost wishes she could move up Scarlet's body, trace her lips over her ear and growl a command to come, or maybe just press kisses under the lobe and talk her into it in a murmur, _come on, baby, let it go, give it up for me, gorgeous, that's it baby_. But Scarlet is dripping everywhere, covering Yvie’s chin and lips and cheeks with wetness, and she’s fluttering around Yvie’s tongue so addictively as she begins to tense further and further, and Yvie knows she couldn't move if she tried. She works her tongue harder, as if she can press the words into Scarlet’s walls, and hums instead of speaking, sending vibrations through her folds, coaxing the climax out of her with the merciless movements of her thumb on her clit. 

When Scarlet orgasms, she does so with a low moan, her pussy pulsing against Yvie’s face and under her thumb, her thighs spasming and trapping Yvie’s head between them. Her hips jerk into the contact, once, twice, and then she’s falling back onto the mattress, crying out softly, like this is finally too much and she can’t bear to be touched any longer, is trying to escape Yvie. Withdrawing her tongue, Yvie laps softly over her entrance to collect the wetness, as if there’s still remnants of thirst to quench, and removes her thumb from Scarlet’s clit. Her arms tight around the other woman's thighs, Yvie lays her palms on Scarlet’s lower abdomen instead, pressing her hips solidly into the bed to keep her steady and anchored as she comes down. 

Staying where she is, on her stomach between Scarlet’s legs, Yvie turns her head slightly and noses Scarlet’s silky inner thigh, litters little kisses everywhere she can reach and listens as the pattern of Scarlet’s breathing pacifies and evens out slowly.Scarlet’s intakes of air are raspy, her exhales long and shattered, and her frame quakes with aftershocks, forcefully at first and then with decreasing intensity and frequency, until she eventually goes completely boneless. They lie there like that, bodies not quite intertwined but still skin on skin, and Yvie tells herself it’s to let Scarlet catch up, pointedly ignoring the way the tightly wound knot in her own gut begins to untangle, leaving her limbs the pleasant kind of heavy and achy.

“Come here, baby,” Scarlet calls in a quiet murmur after a while.

Yvie pushes herself up on her arms, set on just flopping onto the bed next to Scarlet, and hesitates for just one faltering moment, a little disoriented and caught off guard by the sweetness of the pet name. Her pause gives Scarlet enough time to curl her fingers around the base of her skull and grab onto Yvie’s shoulder, tugging her up her body almost urgently instead, as if she needs the weight of Yvie against her, needs her close. Yvie goes willingly, sliding up between Scarlet’s legs, heart in her throat as Scarlet’s hands move to cradle her face so carefully, her gaze wandering over Yvie's features with an expression Yvie can’t identify. 

Yvie opens her mouth, immobilized all over again, wanting to say something but completely lost for words, and Scarlet shakes her head lightly, pulls her in and brings their lips together before she can make an attempt. Yvie gives in to it easily, jaw relaxing as she lets Scarlet take the lead, kissing her slow and thorough, like she’s trying to reassure Yvie of something. She sucks Yvie’s lower lip into her mouth, tongue and teeth pressing into the flesh, and then releases it with a quiet _pop_.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Scarlet mumbles against her, sounding almost adoring, her thumbs tracing over Yvie’s cheekbones. 

Yvie nearly gasps, her chest constricting, and then Scarlet’s kissing her again, needier now, letting out an almost inaudible whine as she nuzzles closer. Her tongue is pressing eagerly into Yvie’s mouth, and Yvie thinks she’s searching for leftover hints of her own taste, or maybe just trying to suffocate Yvie with the nearness of her, to draw all the oxygen out of her lungs so that when she lets go, Yvie will fall weakly onto Scarlet’s chest with every last defense broken down to useless pieces, nothing left between her cheek and the gentleness of Scarlet’s touch, the warmth of her skin. 

When they finally break apart, Scarlet holds Yvie in place still, pressing lazy, close-mouthed pecks on her lips, and Yvie keeps her eyes shut, tries to will her head to stop spinning and loses that fight miserably, feels like Scarlet could draw any confession from her breath right now if she wanted. Her grip on Yvie starts to loosen slowly as she lets out a sigh and tilts her chin up to place one more kiss on Yvie’s mouth. Yvie opens her eyes, watches as Scarlet settles back against the pillows again with a satisfied, sleepy smile on her face and her puffy lips shiny with saliva. 

“Want my blunt back,” she announces in a purr, blinking up at Yvie.

Yvie almost chuckles at the demand, props herself up a little farther. “Oh, do you?” she husks, lifting an eyebrow, smiling right back at Scarlet and tilting her head towards the ashtray. “It’s still right over there, technically. You could just grab it.” 

Scarlet lifts one of her hands, makes a weak and uninspired effort to reach for it, and then sighs dramatically, shakes her head with a pronounced pout. “Nah-uh. Can’t.” 

This time, Yvie doesn’t even attempt to hold off the wave of endearment that washes over her, Scarlet’s blatant attitude so very charming to her. She feels herself soften in response, the tension in her shoulders and neck weakening as both her body and mind relax. Barely stopping herself from kissing the pout off Scarlet’s mouth, she rolls her eyes instead, opting for sarcasm, but, as she deducts from Scarlet’s smug little face, ending up looking quite fond instead.

“Brat,” she says, unable to shake the sensation it comes out praising more than anything else.

Scarlet just hums like Yvie’s making a fair point that she can’t really argue with, and Yvie rolls her eyes again, grabbing the blunt from the ashtray and tapping it against the edge before she gently brings it up to Scarlet. The other takes it between her lips, still no move to indicate she’s going to do anything herself, and Yvie scoffs, pulls back a little to allow herself space to click the lighter, and then snatches her rolling materials off the bedside table and sits back against the pillows.

“Are you at least gonna smoke it yourself, or do you need help with that too?” she quips, fingers quickly working on a new blunt.

“Ha-ha,” Scarlet says dryly and blows some smoke in Yvie’s general direction.

“Try not to let it go out this time,” Yvie comments lowly, and Scarlet shrugs, seeming unbothered.

“Hurry up and finish, I wanna cuddle.”

Yvie doesn’t try to stop the smile that plays at her lips, eyes narrowing as she finishes up with her rolling and sets the materials aside again, bringing the blunt up to light it. The smoke is satin, smooth and rich, and it fills Yvie’s lungs in a way that oxygen never could, satisfying the craving she didn’t realize was there until it was already being eased. 

“Hey,” Scarlet says, as if something has just occurred to her, and Yvie glances over at her quizzically. “You never told me your name.”

“Yvie.” She replies before even thinking it through, instinctively giving Scarlet what she wants, and is shocked when it doesn't feel like a mistake, instead feels like something she should've done far sooner. “It's Yvie.”

“Yvie,” Scarlet repeats, and it's soft on her lips, her tone wondering, as if she's exploring how it feels. “Yvie, Yvie, Yvie.”

Her heart beating noticeably quicker, Yvie holds the next puff of smoke in as long as she can, willing it to slow down, trying to regain her composure as Scarlet mumbles her name a few more times and stares up at her so searchingly. 

“You gonna stop calling me daddy now?” Yvie asks once she’s sure her voice won't shake. 

“I will literally never stop calling you daddy,” Scarlet says, her voice level and completely serious, looking Yvie dead in the eyes. Yvie lets out a laugh before she can help it, and Scarlet grins all at once. “But Yvie suits you,” she adds, and pats the bed next to her. “C’mere and lay down with me, Yvie.” 

Refusing to let herself overthink it, she scoots downwards so that she's reclining, and waves her hand at Scarlet, indicating that the other woman should move closer instead. 

“Hm?” Scarlet hums, squinting at Yvie. “No, I don’t wanna move.”

“Baby,” Yvie says after blowing out a cloud of smoke, amusement audible in her voice. “We’re not laying in your wet spot.” 

“Oh.” Scarlet blushes, a cheeky little smile on her face, and Yvie’s ribs feel suddenly too tight, affection swelling in her chest at the sight. 

Scarlet finishes her blunt and stumps it out against the darkened, ashy glass, making sure the cherry is out properly before leaving the stub in the ashtray and handing it to Yvie. Yvie turns her attention elsewhere for just a split second to set it down on the mattress next to her thigh and flick her own blunt against the rim. That’s enough time for Scarlet to slide closer on the sheets and plaster herself to Yvie’s side, one leg immediately tangling with Yvie’s and a palm being flattened against Yvie’s abs right below the hem of her crop top.

As if on autopilot, Yvie immediately lifts her arm to accommodate Scarlet better, and Scarlet slips under it easily, allowing Yvie to wrap it around her and feeling so comfortable and warm and just the right size for snuggling. Yvie clears her throat like she’s ashamed of the thought, and while she takes another hit, Scarlet’s hand starts climbing higher unhurriedly, up and up, under the top and slightly to the left and suddenly she’s cupping Yvie’s breast.

“Um,” Yvie lets out with smoke. “What are you doing?”

Scarlet swipes a firm thumb over the nipple, pressing down a little harder when she’s right in the middle, the rest of her fingers digging into the flesh adamantly, and nuzzles her face into the side of Yvie’s neck, pecking the jaw.

“Feelin’ you up, daddy,” she murmurs sweetly, dropping another kiss just beneath the first. “I love your tits.” 

“Shut up,” Yvie chuckles lowly.

“Mmm,” Scarlet muses, kissing Yvie’s neck once more and squeezing the breast. “Why don’t you make me.”

“I am so not falling for that,” Yvie informs her and side-eyes Scarlet who produces a meek whine in response. “But I like your tits, too.”

“Aw, thank you, daddy,” Scarlet says through a yawn. “They like you too, especially when you made them bounce when you fucked me. You should definitely do that again soon.”

Puffing on her blunt, Yvie lets the smoke fill her lungs and seep into the very fibers of her being before releasing it and replying to Scarlet, a lazy smile on her lips. “Oh, is that so?” 

“Uh huh,” Scarlet hums, snuggling closer, forehead pressed to Yvie’s neck and her cheek resting against her collarbone. 

The thought that Scarlet fits perfectly beside her reemerges, and Yvie mulls it over, contemplating the weight of Scarlet’s head against her shoulder, the dizzyingly soft press of her breasts to her side, the way her leg curls around Yvie’s as if she's a vine climbing a pole. Yvie continues smoking as Scarlet yawns again, mumbling something incomprehensible, and wonders why the feeling of interlocking with her like a puzzle piece doesn’t make her stomach sick with fear. Putting it down to the weed and the orgasm, Yvie lets go of both thoughts and sinks into Scarlet’s warmth, her lids lowering. 

Scarlet’s breathing starts gradually growing deeper and heavier, as if she’s seconds from falling asleep, and the idea of keeping her on her chest like this while she drifts makes the back of Yvie’s throat prickle. She tries to swallow against the lump of emotions forming there, still almost unable to believe that Scarlet wants to be close to her like this, even after everything that's happened. She stubs out her blunt, placing the ashtray on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

“Babe,” she whispers, bouncing her shoulder lightly to attract Scarlet’s attention, worrying for a moment that Scarlet will roll over or go away, like a cat who’s settled in her lap and will only stay in place if she refrains from moving a single muscle.

But Scarlet only produces a little wincing noise and clings to Yvie even harder, and Yvie catches her breath, her head tilting back as she processes that Scarlet is holding onto her like this, loathing the prospect of stirring her right now or ever doing anything to disturb her comfort in any way, even temporarily.

“Baby, I need to move us,” she tries again. “Come on.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet whines. “‘M comfy.”

“You’ll be even comfier once I lie down with you, I just need to adjust us real quick.”

“Uh-uh,” Scarlet repeats, her voice fading toward the end like she can’t stay awake long enough to finish her half-hearted protest.

Tightly hugging Scarlet close to herself, Yvie cautiously sits up, the calming effects of both weed and her orgasm as well as the desire to maintain the peace of the now quietly snoring woman on her chest preventing her from making any quick movements, Scarlet mutters something, but it’s muffled and feeble and barely audible, and Yvie twists her arm to blindly reach behind her back and reposition the pillows the best she can without fidgeting too much or letting go of Scarlet.

As she lies down and pulls Scarlet farther onto her chest, the other unconsciously moves her hand from Yvie’s breast to circle her arm around Yvie’s middle, and hides her face in the fabric of Yvie’s top. Yvie pushes her own spare arm behind her head and settles, lets her eyes flutter shut.

In an hour or so, she’ll wake up to Adore bringing Violet home, swinging the front door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall and falling into the apartment. They’ll both be far drunker than they were when Yvie last saw them at the bar, and Violet will be giggling loudly while Adore will be whispering dirty promises to her in a voice that isn’t nearly as hushed as she apparently imagines it to be. One of them will walk into a piece of furniture, and their ensuing laughter will finally make Scarlet stir and slur out something in her sleep right before she’ll cuddle a little bit closer to Yvie, and that’ll force Yvie to give up her plan to get up and go shout at Adore in lieu of holding Scarlet tighter and allowing herself to doze off again, a weird, unfamiliar feeling dwelling in her chest at the realization Scarlet hasn’t gotten up and left yet.

The next time Yvie will wake up after that, it’ll be morning already, the bright light of the low November sun shining through the curtains she forgot to close. Scarlet will be gently tugging her legs open, looking up at Yvie wonderingly and asking if she _please may, daddy_ in a sugary little tone. Yvie will nod and close her eyes again, let Scarlet’s warm tongue take her apart until she’s unable to hold back moans, and then she’ll bask in the afterglow and watch as Scarlet throws one of her flannels over her naked form and informs Yvie she’s going to get something to drink.

All of that will happen, but right now Yvie doesn’t think ahead, doesn’t ponder the future at all. She just lets contentment wash over her in tides and enjoys the lightness of marijuana in her fingertips and the weight of a body on her own, pulled safely down to earth by the limbs draped over her and the feeling that this time around, maybe no one will leave or be left, curled so sweet and secure in her chest.


End file.
